


born to love you

by salazarsslytherin



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alpha Brian, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Mpreg, Omega Freddie, Omega Verse, Unplanned Pregnancy, this is very self-indulgent okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: Something inside him justknows,some alpha instinct uncurls without hesitation, so primal Brian doesn’t need to examine it to justknowit’s true.Freddie’s pregnant.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 9
Kudos: 99





	born to love you

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure self-indulgence I'm gonna be honest with you and I'm not sorry at all, I had so much fun writing this! I do have plans to write a bit more in this 'verse, particularly a sort of prequel type thing showing how Brian and Freddie first got together and definitely some snapshots of them being parents, but I have no idea what the timescale on that will be.
> 
> I hope someone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :D
> 
> Huge thanks to obscuriaal for giving this a read through to assuage my fears before I hit post and for many, many years of ship-partnering, and to queerbrianmay and rhapsodicalfreddie for letting me harp on about this so much, ily guys this would have lived forever in my google docs if not for you <3

Brian notices before Freddie.

It’s subtle, but it’s enough. He smells different; the hollow of his throat, in the divot of his spine, the tender insides of his thighs. Brian would know Freddie’s scent anywhere, he’d know it after all his memories and sense of self had gone, when he didn’t even know his own name—it’s literally bonded into his soul. And it’s changed. It’s better.

Brian can’t describe it and doesn’t try, but it’s more _there_ somehow, and it’s more... _him_. Freddie’s usually covered in Brian’s scent anyway but this is different, it’s _part_ of him, not just clinging to him because Brian cuddled him for three hours straight. 

Something inside him just _knows_ what it means, some alpha instinct uncurls without hesitation, so primal Brian doesn’t need to examine it to just _know_ it’s true. 

Freddie’s pregnant. 

Brian breathes deeply, his nose pressed into Freddie’s throat, and wraps both arms tightly around him. He feels like he could get drunk like this, just breathing him in, near dizzy with the powerful awareness that _he_ has made his omega pregnant, he’s taken root inside him and marked him there as well, has claimed Freddie now in every way possible.

Freddie doesn’t grow suspicious at Brian’s behaviour, which isn’t actually abnormal for him at all; they often spend long hours in the morning like this, when soundcheck isn’t until late and they don’t have anywhere else to be. 

Freddie tucks his head into Brian and hums sleepily. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” Brian says softly, slowly running his nose along the column of Freddie’s throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Freddie replies hoarsely, not moving except to automatically tip his head back a little and give Brian better access. 

“Why don’t you sleep a little longer,” Brian suggests, his lips following the trail of Freddie’s neck. He lets his tongue dart out, just quickly, over the claim mark just beneath Freddie’s jaw and Freddie shivers. 

Brian does mean it—Freddie _should_ sleep a little longer, they have a concert later—but he can’t help but kiss him, just the edge of his jaw at first but his lips creep along until they settle over Freddie’s mouth, just barely parted while he dozes. Knowing that he’s carrying their child, even though it’s barely more than a thought at this point, thrills Brian so utterly that the only way he can think to match the feeling, to sate the alpha pride quickly growing in him, is with sex. 

Freddie returns the kiss only sleepily but he opens his eyes when Brian slips his tongue inside. He kisses him back but pulls away after a moment, blinking up at Brian, who finds himself leaning over Freddie, sliding a leg over him without conscious thought.

“I thought I was going to sleep a little longer,” Freddie says wryly. He rubs his eyes with his hand and Brian catches it after, presses the inside of Freddie’s wrist to his nose and inhales.

“Sleep after,” Brian says simply, nudging Freddie’s thighs apart and pushing a thumb into him. 

Freddie lets his legs fall open and Brian presses into him in a dance they’ve danced a thousand times before.

For now, he keeps his little secret.

* * *

He isn’t very good at hiding it. He can’t _help_ himself, comes up behind Freddie and settles his hands on his still-flat stomach, hooking a chin on his shoulder and grinning down though there’s nothing to see yet. He scents Freddie _every_ chance he gets and invents a few more chances besides, to the extent that even Freddie, the cuddliest omega on the planet, starts to get irritated with him, wriggling to get out of his grasp a few times when Brian’s become too overbearing for him.

He gets angry after a show one night when Freddie had been clambering about on the scaffolding, showing off how high he could climb and flinging himself about. He’s fine, he doesn’t hurt himself, but Brian’s heart is in his throat the whole time he’s watching and he messes up the song he’s playing three separate times until Freddie gets down.

He tells him off after, when it’s just the four of them in the dressing room, and Freddie scowls indignantly at him.

“What is the _matter_ with you, Bri?”

“Nothing’s the _matter_ I just don’t like watching you risk hurting yourself up there just to show off a bit for the fucking audience!” Brian snaps at him. “I think you should stop climbing about during the shows, it’s not safe.”

“You’ve never cared before,” Freddie retorts. “I’m fine, Brian, I’m not an idiot. I know how to _hold on_.”

“He’s never hurt himself before,” Roger points out—bravely, considering the mood Brian’s in.

Deaky doesn’t jump in on Brian’s side either so he effectively loses that round and the next night, Freddie climbs higher than before, one arm wrapped around a pole while he grips his mic stand with the other and sings Fat Bottomed Girls. Brian usually loves watching him sing that one but he’s not happy at all, his stomach is in shreds, and that night tries a different tactic.

He hustles Freddie to bed immediately after the show, fucks him long and hard until morning light is starting to creep through the hotel blinds. And when they’re knotted together and Freddie’s thoroughly exhausted, beautifully omegan in his soft, sweet submission, Brian tells him he doesn’t want him to climb any more and Freddie agrees in half a daze. 

* * *

He stops climbing but Brian finds himself growing fiercely protective about the smallest things. He snaps at roadies and stage crew, lighting guys and sound techs for the smallest things, for even _nearly_ upsetting Freddie. Has a screaming match with Ratty and Brian can’t even remember why. Banishes Phoebe twice for incidental things, then pitches a fit when Freddie’s throwing up in the dressing room while Brian’s tuning his guitar and he finds out Phoebe wasn’t there to help him.

Even Freddie tells him he’s being too harsh and Brian tries to reel it in but it’s difficult; the change in Freddie’s scent is growing stronger, it’s undeniable now—to his bonded alpha, at least—and the new rush of hormones isn’t something Brian was at all prepared to deal with.

Pregnancy is so far from Freddie’s mind that it doesn’t even occur to him and he moans about the food in the city they’re in when he finds himself vomiting yet again, complains to the hotel staff that the thermostat is broken because he just can’t cool down, and thinks he must be getting sick because he’s tired _all the time_. 

Then, two weeks after Brian first notices, Roger and Freddie realise at almost the exact same time.

They’re all piled in the dressing room after another successful gig, adrenalised and laughing, and Roger throws an arm around Freddie, jumping up and down in hyperactive excitement.

Two things happen almost immediately.

Roger stops jumping and leans in to Freddie to smell him, frowning.

And Brian, who has never in the past had a problem with Roger or John touching, cuddling, or generally being affectionate with Freddie, roughly yanks Roger away by the back of his shirt. He doesn’t even think about it. He just sees another alpha touching _his_ omega, his _pregnant_ omega, and something in his brain whites out. 

Roger’s reeling and thankfully doesn’t get aggressive about the way Brian’s hauled him off, just stares between he and Freddie. “Holy fuck,” he says. “You’ve knocked him up.”

Freddie mouths wordlessly for a moment and he swings around to look at Brian. One look at him must confirm what he now suspects because his face goes _white_.

“That can’t…” He trails off and his eyes flick to the side, counting back in his head. He hasn’t missed a heat yet but his next one is probably over-due; he’s never been very regular, it’s difficult to keep track. “Brian…”

He doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t know what to ask for, but Brian understands. He gathers Freddie in his arms, tugging him in and holding him close, kissing his forehead and his hair, which are the only bits of Freddie he can reach while cuddling him like this. 

“Am I?” he asks quietly, pressing his face to Brian’s chest. He _shouldn’t_ be, Freddie takes pills to stop this sort of thing, but some feeling has settled in place inside him and he just _knows_. 

“I think so,” Brian tells him gently, trying to contain his giddy, overwhelming happiness because Freddie’s less certain and Brian doesn’t want to upset him. He just holds onto him and stays quiet while Freddie tries to absorb this and Roger and John quietly, subtly slip out. 

(“Did _you_ know?” Roger asks, hushed, as they hurry away.

“I wondered,” Deaky whispers back, closing the door behind him.)

“I don’t understand,” Freddie says after a long moment of fraught silence. “This shouldn’t happen. We’re _careful_ , the pills—”

“I know,” Brian says soothingly. “I don’t know how it happened. Did you miss any?” He doesn’t think so, he himself is usually the one to remind Freddie to take them but with their schedule and the hectic life they lead...and there had been a few times when they’d been out at all hours, day bleeding into night bleeding into day without them realising. “That last heat…”

It had been a tough one to get through, stronger than usual and it had lasted longer, though neither of them could figure out why. Even Brian had been exhausted by the end of it and they’d had to cancel two studio days so Freddie could sleep after.

“Oh fucking _hell,_ Bri! What are we going to do? We’re on a fucking _tour_!” 

“I know, I know.” Brian holds him tighter and strokes his back, hoping Freddie doesn’t go into full meltdown mode because it can’t be good for the baby. “We’ll figure it out. We need to get you to a doctor.”

Freddie huffs into his shoulder. “I fucking hate doctors.” It’s muffled but Brian had been expecting that response so it’s not difficult to make out.

“I know,” Brian laughs gently.

“How long have you known?” Freddie asks suddenly, pulling back and eyeing Brian shrewdly. 

Brian purses his lips for a moment. “Not that long,” he says. “I suspected about...two weeks ago?”

Freddie flushes. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” he demands. 

“Because. I wasn’t _sure,_ it was just a feeling, really,” Brian tries to explain. “I just sort of woke up and knew.”

Freddie rubs both hands over his face. “At least you didn’t realise because I _looked_ it,” he says gloomily. “Oh fuck, I’m going to get so _fat_. _Brian_!” He’s petulant and panicked, tearful again.

Brian pulls him back close to his chest, well-versed at dealing with Freddie in a flap. “We’re going to have a _baby_ , Fred,” he says softly, one hand smoothing Freddie’s hair down the back of his head, lightly scratching his fingernails against his nape until Freddie melts against him. 

“God help us,” Freddie says, and starts laughing suddenly, a tiny bit hysterical. “We really are. A fucking baby.”

“A _baby_ ,” Brian repeats, grinning. He feels giddy with it, with the knowledge and with _finally_ getting to share this with Freddie. No, it’s not ideal, the timing couldn’t be worse and they’d never planned for it, but none of that matters. Brian would happily cancel the tour tomorrow, truth be told; their world has shifted now, immediately. They’re going to have a _child_.

* * *

Things change literally overnight.

Now that Roger and John know and now that Freddie’s scent is getting more obvious, they act differently toward him. They’re both noticeably protective, heads jerking round when someone so much as knocks on the door, suspicious until the intruder is proven to be a friend or crew member.

Neither of them touch him any more; they were always affectionate before, especially after a show, but overnight they’ve both backed off, careful not to so much as brush against him when they walk by. 

They’re too polite, too _nice_ to him, careful with him. When they all walk together, Brian situates himself fully in front of Freddie and the others fall in behind, hemming him in like he’s something precious.

And Brian...somehow Brian gets even _worse_. If Freddie had thought he was overbearing before, it’s nothing to how he is when he’s no longer trying to hide it, and Roger and John are no longer any help, automatically siding with their fellow alpha when Freddie complains about Brian not letting go of him.

He can’t walk within an arm’s length of Brian without being gently pulled into his lap and thoroughly scented, as though anyone within a fifty mile radius of Freddie would ever assume for one second that he _wasn’t_ Brian’s. 

“I’m already covered in your bloody scent, darling, can’t you give it a rest?” Freddie snaps at him three days later having once again found himself pulled down onto Brian where he’s sat on the sofa in the dressing room.

“You’re not, I can smell others on you. Phoebe.” Brian’s unrepentant, his words mumbled into Freddie’s neck, one arm snaking around his waist so he can’t squirm away. 

“He’s a _beta_ , surely you don’t have a problem with him?”

“Not a problem, no,” Brian agrees, not stopping in his mission to make Freddie smell as _Brian_ as possible. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Freddie huffs, rolling his eyes.

Roger sniggers at him but offers no support. “You _do_ smell a bit vague, Fred,” he puts in.

Freddie shoots him a look of utter betrayal as Brian’s head whips round to look at Roger. “Do you think so too?” he asks. “Right.” His arm tightens around Freddie and his tongue darts out to press hot and wet against Freddie’s claim mark.

Freddie jumps as heat zips through him and he closes his eyes. “ _Bri_!” he gasps. “Don’t _do_ that! I smell _fine_ , I smell like _you_.”

But there’s no reasoning with him. Brian has always been a proud alpha, more than keen to keep Freddie doused in his own scent so that everyone else knew he was bonded—as if the mark on his neck didn’t speak for itself—but he’s become irrationally possessive.

Well, Freddie thinks it’s irrational. The others, when he complains to them, just laugh and tell him to get used to it; he’s got a good few months of it, yet.

It’s Ronnie who helps him in the end. She catches Freddie one night after a show, having either the masterful cunning or just the sheer dumb luck of trying to steal his attention when Brian’s distracted elsewhere; something had gone wrong with his guitar toward the end of the show and he’s talking it over with his roadie backstage as Freddie heads toward the dressing room.

She grabs his elbow and gives him a big hug first of all, squeezing him and congratulating him excitedly. Freddie doesn’t usually like it when people do that—not many know yet and it’s one of the main reasons why Freddie dreads them finding out—but he bears it with good grace. He doesn’t mind _too_ much, as it’s Veronica. He’s always liked her. 

“Right, I wanted to talk to you while John and Brian weren’t around,” she says, straight to business. “John was talking to me about the two of you, he said you’re getting fed up with how Brian’s acting.”

“God, yes,” Freddie says, sighing. “I _know_ it’s his instincts and he can’t help it but honestly, darling, I can barely take a piss any more without him carrying me there.”

Ronnie laughs sympathetically, nodding along. “Oh yeah, I remember it well,” she says wisely. “John was the same—of course, I got a bit of a break while you boys were off on tour but I think that made him worse when he was home, he’d barely let go of me.”

“ _Deaky_?” Freddie says, surprised before he laughs, realising he’s not sure _why_ he’s surprised. “It’s always the quiet ones. How did you cope, my dear? I’m begging you.” She’s had more children since, she must’ve figured out a way of dealing with it.

“Well,” Ronnie says, leaning in conspiratorially though their chances of being overheard given how loud it is backstage are practically nil. “Have you tried wearing his clothes?”

Freddie blinks. “How will that help?”

“It’s a scent thing, you know how they get,” she says, rolling her eyes, knowing Freddie will understand as well as she does the sheer _ridiculousness_ of alphas sometimes. “I’m telling you, wear his clothes, something he’s already worn, and he’ll calm right down. I’m not saying it’ll be perfect—he _is_ still an alpha—but you’ll stop wanting to murder him.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Freddie says, shaking his head in wonder. “I’ll try it, darling, I’ll try anything.” So far his only solutions have been loudly complaining and sex but in truth, half the time that only seems to rile Brian up more.

They get to the dressing room before any of the others and Freddie decides there’s no time like the present; he hunts around for the t-shirt Brian had taken off earlier to get changed for the concert and disappears into the shower to get rid of the post-gig sweat. 

By the time he’s out, the rest of the band have joined them and have started in on the drinks.

Brian stands up as soon as Freddie walks in but Freddie saves him the trouble and deposits himself down next to him, expecting to be hauled into his lap, but Brian breathes deeply and only leans into him, apparently satisfied. 

Freddie’s wide eyes meet Ronnie’s across the room and she shoots him a secret little smirk. 

Brian still settles a possessive hand on Freddie’s thigh when the crew members start trickling in, but Freddie’ll take that over being unable to _move_ any day of the week.

* * *

There are tears when Freddie starts to show. 

He struggles to get one of his tiny pairs of red leather trousers done up around his waist and has such a meltdown they have to cancel the night’s concert because he refuses to go on.

He won’t even listen to Brian, instead hysterically sobbing on the dressing room floor with his trousers undone and his hair in disarray. Roger, John, and three alphas from the crew all come running at the sound of a distressed omega but Brian blocks the door and tells them he’s dealing with it.

_Trying_ to deal with it. He doesn’t know _what_ to do, in all honesty; he’s never been with Freddie in this much of a state before and he can’t get _near_ him to try and calm him down, Freddie keeps scratching at him and just wailing louder whenever Brian raises his voice.

“Brian, you need to sort him out, for _fuck_ sake!” Roger yells through the door. 

“ _Fuck off_ , Rog!” Brian yells back, incensed. “Freddie, _please_.”

He can hear a bit of a commotion outside, more voices—Freddie’s _loud_ , every alpha backstage can probably hear him by this point.

“Brian!” Roger pounds on the door this time and slams it open, wide-eyed and flushed. There are at least half a dozen other alphas outside, all staring intently through the open door.

The scent of them all makes Freddie screech. “GET _OUT_!” he shrieks, which is actually the first intelligible thing he’s said in twenty minutes.

“Roger you’re not _helping_ ,” John snaps, suddenly appearing behind Roger and trying to yank him back. “Brian, can’t you calm him down?” 

“Don’t you think I’m _trying_? You’re all making him worse!” Brian shoots back, getting angrier by the second.

“Hold onto him,” John advises, struggling a bit with Roger, who’s trying to edge his way into the dressing room.

Brian growls at him and takes a step forward, which immediately increases the tension.

“If you can’t handle him you _shouldn’t_ have bonded with him,” Roger says angrily.

“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?” Brian demands, taking another step.

“Brian!” John snaps. “Ignore Roger—for fuck sake, deal with Freddie! Can every unbonded alpha _fuck off_ , please?” he adds, raising his voice even louder. “Roger, that includes you.”

John gives Roger a rough yank and manages to get him out of the doorway, giving him an extra shove between the shoulders for good measure.

Brian glares suspiciously at his retreating back, trying to fight the urge to go after him and sock him one. His body feels torn in two directions; one half of him wanting to step outside and make sure every alpha out there realises that Freddie is _his_ and the other half that’s nearly drowning in the intensity of his omega’s distress and only wants to soothe him.

Then the fact that Freddie won’t _let_ him is making his temper rise and the fact that there are other alphas right there witnessing his failure, _judging_ him, makes it worse.

“Calm down, Brian,” John says firmly, glaring at one of the alphas trying to look around his shoulder to where Freddie is.

He’s one of the lighting guys, Brian thinks, and immediately wants him fired—they can’t have crew members hanging around who won’t mind their own business. It’s bad for the band.

“You’re only going to make him worse. What’s even wrong with him?”

“His trousers don’t fit,” Brian says. Part of him wants to tell John to piss off as well, he doesn’t want _any_ other alphas near Freddie right now, but the rational side of him does recognise that John is trying to help, plus he’s bonded so he’s no threat. 

“Are you kidding me? I thought it was something serious, for fuck sake! _Calm him down_ or you’re going to have the entire crew over here,” John says, rolling his eyes and turning to herd those who’ve already gathered back down the corridor. 

“I’m _trying_ ,” Brian growls.

“ _Bri_!” Freddie sobs from behind him and Brian whirls round to him, slamming the door back closed.

Freddie makes a tear-stained and pitiful sight that melts Brian’s heart.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, edging closer, wary of his damn nails. “Come here, _please_ , Freddie.”

Now that he has Brian’s attention back, the drama is amping back up, Brian can feel the tension in their bond.

“You did this,” Freddie seethes at him. “I’m going to get _fat_ , Brian, I’m not going to be able to _do_ anything. My fucking _clothes_ don’t _fit_!” His voice rises in pitch once more and Brian snaps.

“That’s _enough_ ,” he thunders, so loud and sudden it makes Freddie jump. “Now come _here_.”

Shocked into silence, Freddie pouts but gets as far as kneeling up and lets Brian come near enough to touch him.

Brian’s gentle when he does, gathering Freddie into his arms and pulling him close.

The tears start up again immediately but this time they’re buried in Brian’s chest as Freddie clings to him. 

Brian rubs a hand up and down Freddie’s back, murmuring quietly to him until he feels a small wave of calm through their bond. 

“There you go,” Brian hums, keeping his voice quiet and steady so as not to disturb the fragile peace that’s settled around them. “There’s no need to get so upset, sweetheart. That’s our baby, this means it’s healthy, it’s growing. It’s a good thing, Freddie.”

Freddie’s pulling in great, shuddering breaths, probably ruined Brian’s t-shirt with the tight grip he has on it. “Easy for you to say,” he sniffs. “ _You’re_ not the one growing. I’m not going on tonight, I absolutely _won’t_ so don’t try and make me.”

Brian had been expecting that. “I know, it’s okay. We’ll cancel tonight and say you’re not feeling well, baby. And we’ll get Phoebe to buy some new trousers ready for tomorrow.”

Freddie sniffs again but can’t seem to find anything to complain about in that so he stays silent.

Brian braces himself for what has to come next. “Freddie...the other thing is that we have to tell Jim and the others. The tour might have to be cut short. We can’t hide it for much longer.”

“ _No_ ,” Freddie moans softly. “Then everyone will _know_!”

_Good_. Brian hates hiding it. “Freddie, your scent’s getting more obvious by the day, sweetheart, people are going to realise soon anyway. It’s better that we announce it properly.”

“I don’t want to,” Freddie pouts, though he turns his head into Brian’s touch when Brian strokes his hair. “Everyone will _look_ at me. They’ll _say_ things.”

“They’ll say congratulations,” Brian tells him patiently. “And they won’t look at you any more than is polite or I’ll have words. It’ll be fine, Fred, I promise. I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

Brian books an appointment for their first scan and, though they’re in the middle of Europe doing concerts nearly every night, he books it with their usual doctor so they have to fly home to London during one of their rare days off, which Freddie isn’t happy about.

He’s in a bad mood anyway because he’s desperate for the loo and can’t go before the scan so for most of the morning he refuses to talk to Brian but the moment they’re on the plane and it starts down the runway, he’s clutching his hand and has his face buried in Brian’s shoulder. Even after they land he’s so nervous about seeing the doctor, he can’t bring himself to keep Brian at a distance.

“You’re going to be fine, Fred,” Brian soothes him in the back of the car on the way to the hospital. He himself is so excited he couldn’t sleep last night; they’re finally going to see their baby, going to have real, tangible proof that it’s there. Of course, there’s plenty of proof on Freddie if you know what to look for; Brian can pick up the difference in scent without even trying anymore and, though Freddie valiantly tries to hide it, he _is_ showing. He’s only small so any change is obvious, particularly when Brian _wants_ to see it as badly as he does. Not enough for anyone else to notice yet in the huge t-shirts Freddie’s taken to wearing, though after his meltdown Brian thinks some of their crew are probably in the know, but they can’t hide it for much longer.

For that reason, Brian has a meeting with John Reid planned for tomorrow afternoon; by then he’ll be armed with the sonogram and he hopes that after today, after _seeing_ the baby, Freddie will have an easier time connecting with the whole thing.

Freddie’s silent in the waiting room—empty, because they pay a lot of money for actually private healthcare—and Brian rubs his thumb over the back of Freddie’s hand, flicking through a leaflet on What To Expect In The Second Trimester with the other hand.

“Frederick May?”

It takes Freddie a moment to react to the name, unused to hearing it like that, and Brian has to give him a gentle tug to get him to stand. 

Freddie decides to be difficult the moment they’re in the doctor’s office. He grunts something that doesn’t even resemble a greeting, kicks up a fuss about having to get on the bed, and tries to insist that he _has_ to go the toilet _right now_ because he can’t wait any longer.

“Freddie,” Brian says warningly, which gets him onto the bed, at least.

“This is your first pregnancy, correct?” the doctor asks Brian, scooting over in his chair.

“It’s _my_ first pregnancy,” Freddie says pointedly. “You can talk to me, you know. Just because he’s an alpha doesn’t mean you can cut me out of the conversation.”

Brian shoots him a _look_ but their doctor laughs. 

“I’m sorry, Mr May,” he says easily. “You’re right, of course.”

“My name’s Freddie,” Freddie tells him, reluctantly—they’re hardly _friends_ —but _Mr May_ always makes him think they’re talking to Brian even though it’s been his legal name since they bonded.

“Freddie, then. How have your symptoms been so far?”

Freddie scowls. “Awful, to tell you the truth.”

He doesn’t elaborate and Brian sighs. “Lots of nausea,” he tells the doctor for him. “Morning, afternoon, evening, all through the night. Aches, he’s more tired than he was before, a _lot_ more tired.”

The doctor nods along, making a few notes, but doesn’t seem concerned.

“I really _have_ been sick a lot,” Freddie puts in. “Far too much, nobody else is sick this much.”

“You’d be surprised,” the doctor says wryly. He digs out some pamphlets— _more_ pamphlets, Freddie’s never been given so many fucking pamphlets in his life than since he found out he was pregnant—and talks them through what they’ve experienced so far, what to expect going forward, potential risks they might face.

Freddie tunes a lot of it out, letting Brian listen, heroically putting up with having his blood taken and answering the few questions that Brian’s not sure of. 

Then the doctor calls in a colleague to do the sonogram.

“If you could just lie back for me, please, Freddie, that’s it, and lift your shirt.”

Brian comes over to the bedside because he recognises the bratty expression stealing across Freddie’s face. “Sweetheart,” he says, pleadingly, “ _please_. Don’t be difficult.” He tugs Freddie’s shirt up himself before taking Freddie’s hand and kissing it.

“Oh, you have a bit of a bump already!” the sonographer observes, offering Freddie a smile, obviously thinking he’ll be pleased by this.

Freddie’s face grows thunderous and Brian places a gentling hand on his shoulder as well.

“We’re a little sensitive about that,” Brian tells her with a meaningful twist of his mouth.

“No need to be sensitive,” she says bracingly, snapping Latex gloves on. “It’s all part of the process. Now, this may feel a little cold…”

Freddie winces, glaring daggers at Brian while he’s poked and prodded, though he doesn’t let go of his hand.

“If you dig it in any harder I’m going to pee all over your fucking bed,” Freddie snaps, shifting uncomfortably.

“Freddie,” Brian admonishes. “Come on. We’re going to see our _baby_.” He can’t help the awe that creeps into his voice as he says it, he’s been waiting for this for so long, long before he woke up that morning and smelled it on Freddie. Since they first _bonded_ , all this time—they’re finally here, about to see their child, _their child_. Brian can’t believe it. 

They hear the heartbeat first, a confusing rush of noise— _whupwhupwhup_ —that makes Brian’s heart _stop_ and Freddie squeezes his hand hard, blinking tearfully.

“Oh,” he says softly, as he understands. “He’s really there.” He looks down at himself as he listens, one hand carefully on the edge of his stomach, avoiding the gel. “Oh, Bri! His little heart!”

“Ah...this is your first scan, correct?” the doctor asks suddenly, moving the wand over Freddie’s stomach. 

“Yes,” Brian says slowly. “Why?” He’s worried, Freddie can instantly feel it through their bond, and squeezes his hand again, suddenly terrified.

“What’s wrong?” he asks anxiously. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, the baby’s fine,” the sonographer says, moving the screen around so they can see. “Or should I say...the _babies_ are fine. There are two. Congratulations!”

Brian’s stunned.

Freddie just stares.

For a long time nobody says anything.

Brian recovers first. “ _Two_?” he asks in disbelief. “You mean... _twins_?”

“And they’re both okay?” Freddie asks hurriedly, gazing at the screen. “They’re alright in there?”

The sonographer nods. “All healthy as can be,” she says, pressing a few buttons to record a loop for them before she and the other doctor both excuse themselves to give the two of them a moment.

“Twins,” Brian says again, staring at the screen. His grip on Freddie’s hand is tight and he has to sit down. “ _Twins_?”

“Healthy as can be, she said,” Freddie assures hurriedly, sitting up to get a better look at the screen, his hand fully planted over his stomach now, sticky with gel. “Healthy and happy in here...Oh, God…” He shakes with a sob suddenly, shaking his hand free from Brian to wipe his eyes, sniffing hard. “Brian don’t be mad, _please_ , you’re the one who _wanted_ a baby and _look_ at them in there, they’re _healthy_ , just look—”

“I’m not mad,” Brian interrupts quickly. “I’m not mad _at all_ , Freddie, love. I swear. I’m...overjoyed.” He knows he doesn’t sound it, he’s feeling a bit numb, trying to absorb this news. It’s overwhelming, too good to be true. _Two_ babies? He’d thought for a long time, with the lives they lead, with the band and touring and Freddie’s reluctance, that they’d never get a chance at that normal life, wouldn’t even get _one_ child to sing to and put to bed and walk to school.

And now they have _two_. 

“Do you promise?” Freddie asks, wobbly. His focus is still on the screen. “Because those are our _babies_ and I would just _hate_ it if you were mad, they can’t help being in there!”

He’s working himself up, emotionally wrought, and Brian gathers him into his chest, probably managing to smear petroleum jelly all over his clothes but he couldn’t give less of a fuck just then.

“I promise,” Brian tells him, his own voice rather unsteady as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. If he’s not careful he’ll flood Freddie through their bond and then he really _will_ get worked up, trying to deal with the onslaught. “I’m...I’m _shocked_ , but...so, _so_ fucking happy, Fred.” He kisses his hair, squeezing him gently. “I’m so proud of you.”

They’re both a bit tearful by the time the doctors return, offering them both big smiles and making printouts for them to take home, lubing Freddie up again to show them on the screen once more when Freddie asks, very nicely, if she’d be so kind to.

There are more tests after, and _more_ pamphlets now they know it’s a multiple pregnancy, but Freddie takes it all in with far better grace this time, holding Brian’s hand and asking questions, even asking for a pen so he can take _notes_. 

By the time they leave the hospital they’re almost shocked to find it’s still daylight, they’ve been inside for so long. 

They pull out the photos from the sonogram as soon as they get into the car and have another little cry together, just gazing at them, taking it all in.

They’re due to spend the night at their own home in London before flying back tomorrow but they don’t head there just yet, having two stops to make first.

Freddie’s mum cries when they show her the pictures and his father pours a drink for Brian, a little choked up himself as he runs his finger along the edge of the photo and politely asks if they may keep one for themselves. Freddie gives them several and spends a long-overdue couple of hours cuddling with his mother, pretending to listen to all the advice she immediately starts giving him.

Brian’s parents shout aloud when he produces the sonogram, leaping up to hug them both and talking a mile a minute, asking about the sex and potential names and if this means the two of them are going to be coming home for good.

Brian laughs and calms them down, telling them over much-needed cups of tea that it’s too early to know about the sexes, they haven’t even started to discuss names, and they have a meeting with their manager tomorrow morning.

His mother _also_ then proceeds to give Freddie plenty of advice, though he makes more of an effort to look like he’s listening to her because he wants Brian’s parents to continue to like him.

Night is quickly drawing in by the time they make it home and are finally alone to try and take stock, to absorb today’s news and just sit together.

Freddie wants a bath before bed and Brian can’t deny him anything at the best of times, let alone when he’s carrying his child ( _children_ ) so he agrees to get in with him as soon as Freddie turns his pout on him.

Then has to get out again because Freddie wants to see the photos just _one last time_ and Brian can’t begrudge him even that, too enamoured with the way Freddie’s face lights up when he looks at them.

“Amazing,” Brian says softly, pulling Freddie against him and relaxing in the warm water. 

“They are, aren’t they?” Freddie whispers back, still verging on tearful. Brian rather suspects that trait is going to stick around—Freddie can be fairly tearful at the best of times, even when he’s not pregnant, and he must’ve cried at least three times a day since he _has_ been.

Brian kisses his neck. “I meant you,” he tells him, smiling against his skin and sliding both hands around him, resting gently on his stomach. “I can’t wait to raise them with you. I can’t wait for every single part of it. Even the shitty bits. The dirty nappies and sleepless nights and stroppy teenage tantrums. The whole thing.”

Freddie’s chest hitches and he sniffs. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

Brian smiles, so big it nearly hurts. “It is.”

* * *

“You... _what_?” John Reid’s face is a picture; paler than Brian’s ever seen it and eyes so wide it looks almost comical, except nobody dares laugh.

Jim clears his throat from their other side. “Congratulations,” he says when John doesn’t, leaning forward to meet both of their gazes. “You must be so happy, both of you. When are they due?”

“August 20th,” Brian says proudly, not letting go of Freddie’s hand but reaching into his pocket to pull out one of the sonogram copies and putting it on the desk for the two men to see. “Or around then. Probably earlier, because it’s twins.”

John purses his lips. “How long do you think Freddie can continue to perform for?” he asks.

Freddie’s head jerks up. “I’m still _here_ ,” he says crossly. “Brian doesn’t think _for_ me, you know.” 

Brian gives his hand a gentle squeeze but there’s usually little use in trying to calm Freddie down, particularly recently. Nothing incenses him more than being dismissed because he’s an omega.

John knows that full well and he’s known Freddie for years now but he can be old-fashioned sometimes. The whole world can, it seems. Brian doesn’t really mind, he wishes Freddie _would_ let him speak for him more, but then again if Freddie _had_ been meek and docile Brian would never have fallen for him.

“How long do _you_ think, then?” John directs to him without arguing. “Until May?”

“No,” Brian says.

“ _Yes_ ,” Freddie says louder.

Brian shoots him a glare. He wishes they could have had a few days to talk this over between them before coming here, but they have to fly back out tonight so they can perform tomorrow.

“No,” Brian says again, more firmly this time and directed entirely at Freddie. “ _Absolutely_ not. It’s too dangerous.”

Freddie scoffs. “I’m _pregnant_ , Brian, not a fucking _bomb_.”

Brian’s lips go thin and he turns back to John. “The entire US leg will have to be cancelled, there’s no way I’m letting him perform those dates.”

Freddie opens his mouth to argue and Brian shoots him a _look_ that effectively shuts him up.

John rubs his hands over his face. “This is going to be a nightmare, you know that?”

Brian doesn’t reply; he doesn’t care. Nothing in the world is more important to him than Freddie and the children he’s carrying. He loves their fans, they’d be nothing without them, but he couldn’t care less about anyone holding a ticket just then. He’s not risking Freddie or his children’s health for _anything_.

“You’re a smart man, John,” Brian says. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. That’s why we hire you.” He’s not offended by John’s straight-to-business attitude about the whole affair; that _is_ why they wanted him. He can be utterly ruthless when he needs to be and he’ll get a job done no matter what.

“Christ, Brian,” he sighs, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of brandy and a few glasses. Freddie eyes them mournfully. “You really know how to make me earn my wages.”

Brian gives him an unsympathetic look and accepts a glass when it’s offered.

“Do the rest of the band know?”

“Yes,” Freddie answers. “They found out by accident, by my scent.” And because Brian was the most _obvious_ alpha in the fucking world.

“Do they know you want to cancel dates?”

Brian shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve guessed,” he says. “They won’t want to risk Freddie’s health any more than I do.”

“And after?” John asks, eyeing them intently. “What happens then?”

They haven’t discussed that, either.

“We don’t know yet,” Brian says after a moment. “Obviously we’re going to take a break from touring.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Brian says honestly.

John rubs his chin and sips his drink, thinking. “I thought Freddie was on a contraceptive?” he asks after a long moment.

“John,” Jim says warningly, unexpected because he’s been quiet this whole time, just taking notes. 

Brian’s face is its own warning. “Are you going to sue us, John?” he asks quietly.

John huffs a humourless laugh and shakes his head. “I’d be a fool to try,” he says, breaking the sudden tension. 

“It was an accident,” Freddie says, curling one hand protectively over his stomach.

John sighs heavily and takes a deep drink. “Is the band over?” he asks bluntly. “I need to know. I need to know how to handle this.”

“It’s not,” Freddie says with absolute certainty. “Don’t be ridiculous, we’ve barely scratched the surface of what we want to do yet.”

“How long, then?”

“Maybe…” Freddie starts, thinking, but Brian puts a hand on his thigh to stop him.

“We can’t say,” he says firmly. “We don’t know. We _will_ be back, but we don’t know when. We’re not taking two babies on tour with us. There’s a potential...maybe, when they’re a little older, mini-tours, a few dates at a time. We’ll have to wait and see.”

John pinches his nose and dials through to his receptionist.

“Hi Maria—could you order us in some lunch, please? I have the feeling we’re going to be here a while.”

* * *

The fans take the news surprisingly well. Freddie is one of very few famous male omegas, let alone such a prominent one, the frontman of a worldwide band. They’d had no idea how the news would be received, there’s not much precedent for it, but the excitement is palpable. 

They bring signs to their shows with congratulations written in foot-high letters that never fail to choke Freddie up. A mini cry-fest in the middle of a show becomes the norm, much as Freddie usually would have despised that; it happens so often there’s no way he could sustainably dart off-stage every time or they’d never get to perform everything.

Sometimes when he’s in a good mood he changes up the lyrics to their songs, playing up to it all.

“ _Mama...Bri’s knocked me up. Put his cock against my—_ ” (A naughty look gets thrown to the crowd) “— _Pulled his trigger, now I’m fat!_ ”

The fans love it. The press not so much, but then that’s nothing new.

Brian has to be more careful than ever to keep Freddie away from newspapers and magazines, most of which aren’t very polite about them, mostly about their decision to perform the final shows of the European leg. Freddie cried for _days_ after reading one which questioned what sort of parents they’d be when they were being so irresponsible during these early stages, torn between cancelling every single remaining show and sticking his middle finger up at the lot of them.

A lot of them don’t even bother commenting on anything like that, or their shows or their music or anything relevant, instead wasting ink and paper comparing how Freddie looks each performance and whether he’s gotten bigger.

He _is_ showing more and more; it’s to be expected given there are two in there, but Freddie still struggles not to get upset over it. He ditches his tight stage outfits and leotards, opting for baggy t-shirts and leggings with lots of stretch in the waist, with big leather jackets over the top to try and cover up as much as possible.

“Freddie,” Brian soothes him one night, lying in bed with him with one arm around Freddie and one hand on his stomach—he can’t help himself any more, his hands just fall there naturally, possessively resting there whenever possible. “Nobody thinks you’re fat, baby. They all know you’re pregnant.”

“I look _hideous_ ,” Freddie sniffs, burying his face in his pillow. “There are so many photos of me. You’re going to l- _leave_ me because I don’t l-l- _look_ the same and all the fans—”

“Whoa, stop that,” Brian tells him, holding him close. “Don’t be ridiculous, Freddie. I’m never going to leave you, I love you. And I love how you look. I know you hate it but I love watching you grow, it’s fucking... _magical_ , it’s a miracle. Two _humans_ are growing in here. _Our_ two humans.” He strokes his hand soothingly and Freddie sniffs a bit more, keeping quiet.

“You look gorgeous,” Brian assures him, kissing his neck. “And the only thing the fans are thinking is how fucking _jealous_ they are,” Brian continues, kissing Freddie some more, carefully rolling to get himself between Freddie’s legs, “that you’re all _mine_.”

Thankfully Freddie’s not so big yet as to make finding a position for sex difficult and he groans as Brian sinks into him, bearing down on him and clinging to him tight.

“Promise?” he asks breathlessly, blinking up at Brian. There are still tears clinging to his eyelashes and he’s the most beautiful thing Brian’s ever seen.

“Promise,” Brian says, and spends the rest of the night proving it to him.

* * *

Freddie looks less beautiful at four in the morning, roughly shaking Brian awake with a hissed, “Bri! _Brian_! Fucking _wake up_ darling or I’m going to pull your hair.”

Brian stirs, blinking groggily, and reaches out for Freddie. “Babe? Whassamatter? Is something wrong?” He shoots upright, trying to clear his head, and peers at Freddie through the dim light of their hotel room.

“Brian I need noodles,” Freddie tells him very seriously. “I’m _starving_.”

“What?” Brian’s still half-asleep, nothing’s really registering. 

Freddie’s face crumples when he doesn’t immediately get it. “ _Noodles_ , Brian!” he says loudly, too loudly for this time of the morning with only a wall between them and their hotel neighbours. 

“Whoa, ssh,” Brian says quickly, yawning. “Noodles? It’s the middle of the night, Fred.”

The angry tears come at once. “Brian,” Freddie says dangerously. “I’m _hungry_. I can’t keep fucking _anything_ down because _you_ got me pregnant. It’s all _your_ fault and now you won’t even _help_ me when there’s _finally_ something I can eat. You’re so fucking _selfish_ , _you’re_ the asshole who fucking _did this to me_!” he screeches.

Brian grabs him, shushing him, which is the wrong thing to do.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Freddie howls, wrenching away from him like Brian’s an attacker.

“Freddie!”

“This is all YOUR FAULT!” Freddie snatches the covers tightly around himself and burrows down, wracked with big, full-body sobs. “It’s a- _all_ I w-w- _want_. I haven’t eaten anything proper in _days_ because I’m just s- _sick_ all the time and you don’t even _care_ —”

“Freddie—”

“ _Fuck you_ , Brian!” Freddie snaps at him, lurching into motion suddenly, throwing the covers off and struggling out of bed. “I’ll get some _myself_ seeing as you don’t _give a fuck_ , this is _exactly_ the kind of father you’re going to be, only thinking about—”

“Whoa, okay,” Brian says, quickly throwing himself across the bed to grab Freddie before he can march out the doors, which he’s clearly intending to do, stark-naked and barefoot. “Freddie, calm—”

“DON’T FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” Freddie yells, twisting to try and get out of Brian’s arms, but Brian keeps hold of him.

“ _Calm down_ ,” Brian says firmly, holding him tight. “Freddie? Take a breath, count to ten.” He keeps one arm wrapped around him and uses his other hand to cover Freddie’s eyes, gentling him as though he’s still as young and flighty as he was when they first bonded, falling to pieces with nerves before every performance. 

Freddie remains stubbornly tense for a moment but even he can’t fight biology; safe and tight in his alpha’s arms, everything dark and muffled, he can’t stop the instinct to relax from taking over him. 

“There you go,” Brian breathes once he feels it, rocking him gently. “There’s no need to get so upset, sweetheart.” He charitably decides not to start an argument about what Freddie’d said; he doesn’t doubt there’s a lot more of that to come, and Freddie _is_ carrying his children. He could call Brian all manner of things and Brian couldn’t care less so long as the three of them are healthy.

“It’s just all I _want_ ,” Freddie says piteously, tears wetting Brian’s palm.

“Ssh, okay,” Brian says, still rocking him. “Do you want me to call reception and ask the kitchen to make some? What sort?”

“No!” Freddie cries, and Brian’s grip on him tightens instinctively as his distress levels creep back up. “I don’t want their shitty fancy dishes. _Brian_ you aren’t _listening_ to me!”

“I _am_ listening, Freddie,” Brian corrects him gently, keeping his hand over his eyes but leaning down to his neck to kiss his claim mark, which makes Freddie melt. “What is it you want?”

“Noodles,” Freddie sniffs. “Like we used to have. In our old flat, remember? Those ones in the blue packet, the spicy ones. Only _those_ , Bri!”

“Oh, God, Fred, are you serious?” Brian asks, making a face. They’d only ever eaten those things out of pure necessity, able to buy them for pennies at the local supermarket. Brian hasn’t even _seen_ a packet in years, they can afford to eat much better than that nowadays. “Why don’t we ask the kitchen to—”

“ _No_!” Freddie grinds out, trembling with the force of it. “Only those! From the packet!” 

“Can’t it wait until morning?” Brian asks, glancing at the clock again. “We’ll get them first thing.”

“No!” Freddie says, his face screwing up. “I’m so _hungry_ , Brian, I can’t _sleep_ , I _need_ them _right now_!”

“Okay, okay,” Brian says, looking around for the phone. “I’ll ask reception—”

“No!” Freddie says quickly, clutching at him. “They won’t know which ones are the right ones! You have to go and get them for me! The ones we used to have, you know which ones I mean?”

Brian just barely holds in a sigh. “Yeah,” he says, reluctantly accepting his fate. Who _doesn’t_ want to wander around a strange city in the middle of the night looking for noodles he isn’t even sure they sell here? _He’s carrying your babies_ , he reminds himself as he kisses the top of Freddie’s head and carefully lets go of him to slide out of bed, pulling his discarded briefs back on and looking for his jeans.

Freddie watches him dress from a big ball of blankets, eyes wide and red and watery, new tears spilling over as Brian pulls his coat on.

“What’s wrong _now_?”

Freddie’s bottom lip comes right out. “I’m just...going to _miss you_ when you’re gone. Being all alone here.”

Brian just looks at him. “Do you want me to go or not?” he asks impatiently.

Freddie nods. It’s hard to stay even slightly irritated when he looks so soft and sweet, his pure _need_ for Brian pulsing through their bond and swiftly easing any lingering annoyance.

“I won’t be long,” Brian assures him, swooping down to give him a goodbye kiss.

Freddie’s soft, “Bye” follows him all the way down the corridor, so forlorn you’d think Brian was off on a years-long sabbatical, not a thirty minute errand.

Except it’s _not_ thirty minutes. Brian enlists the help of the all-night hotel staff but even with their local knowledge, it takes them ages to find a twenty-four hour store, and even then it doesn’t have the damned noodles.

He goes to three different places in the end, the trip by this time well over an hour long. In the third Brian doesn’t find the exact brand but at least finds _a_ brand of instant noodles and carries every single packet they have to the register, resolving to just hide the packaging from Freddie so he won’t realise.

It’s nearly six by the time he makes it back to the hotel, exhausted and _not_ looking forward to their gig later on tonight, deciding that he’s going to skip soundcheck and Freddie can make his bloody excuses for him.

He has an entire carrier bag full of instant noodles and proudly displays them as he unlocks their hotel room door, expecting to find Freddie tearing at the walls he was so fucking desperate for the damn things when he woke Brian up, but the room is dark and silent.

And Freddie...Freddie is a-fucking- _sleep_.

Brian stares at him for a moment, clicking the door shut behind him. “You little shit,” he mutters to himself, though even alone he can’t quite help the fondness that creeps into his voice as he dumps the bag in the little kitchenette and strips out of his clothes.

At least Freddie _is_ sleeping, and soundly at that; he’s only small but he’s somehow managing to take up nearly the entire bed. Brian can barely find a sliver of it to himself but he doesn’t dare try to cuddle with Freddie in case he wakes him up; he isn’t sure he’d survive that, noodles or no.

Freddie _is_ pleased when he wakes up, though, and for three days he eats nothing but instant noodles (all lovingly prepared by Brian, who carefully conceals the packets so Freddie won’t ever know he’s not bought the _exact same_ brand) and then all of a sudden decides he hates them.

“Oh God,” he cries, clapping a hand over his mouth and nose when Brian brings him a bowl in the dressing room an hour before that night’s show. “Get those away from me!”

“What—?”

But Freddie’s already sprinting (not very fast) past him to the bathroom, where the door slams shut and the water turns on as though that will cover the sound of Freddie throwing up.

“Freddie! Are you alright?” Brian calls through the door, discarding the noodles on a table where Roger eagerly jumps on them. “Freddie?”

“Fine, I just—can’t stand the thought of those things,” Freddie calls back, muffled. 

“I thought that was what you wanted?” They still have about twenty packets left.

“ _No_! I hate them, please get rid of them!” 

He reappears a few minutes later smelling of toothpaste, glancing around suspiciously until he sees the empty bowl. “Ugh, I don’t want _any_ more of those,” he says firmly, making a face. “Fuck, I can still smell them in here.” He clutches his stomach and goes over to sit by the window, breathing shallowly. 

It’s a rather subdued show that night, with Freddie still not feeling his best though he tries his damndest not to let it show, singing his heart out and playing up for the crowd. He has to duck off stage twice to throw up, managing to time one rather well during a costume change but the other is right in the middle of _You’re My Best Friend_ and Brian has to improvise a guitar solo partway through, much to Roger’s displeasure.

Freddie’s exhausted after, spent and quiet in the dressing room where they all retreat to come down, curled across the sofa with his head in Brian’s lap and Brian’s hands in his hair.

Roger and John join them and usually they’d have a run-down of the show, discussing what worked, what didn’t, what they should change for tomorrow, but there’s none of that. They’re all just watching Freddie. 

Surprisingly, it’s John who says what they’re all thinking.

“Maybe we should cancel the next dates,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on Freddie. “There’s not many left, the fans will understand.”

Freddie’s face crumples and he turns, pushing his face into Brian’s stomach. “Because of _me_ ,” he says quietly, devastated. “You think I can’t do it?”

“Freddie, we think you _can_ , I just don’t know if you _should_ ,” Roger says, glancing at Brian. “You must feel the same way.”

“I do,” Brian admits, comfortingly stroking Freddie’s hair. “I know you don’t want to hear it, Fred, but you can’t keep on like this. If you had a different job I’m sure you could keep at it ‘til the end but doing what we do…” He shakes his head. It would be impossible to continue for much longer without putting Freddie or the babies at risk. “I don’t want to be _that_ alpha about it all, but…” But he _does_. He’s been thinking about it since the meeting in Reid’s office, about just putting his foot down and forbidding Freddie from performing any more. He could do it. Freddie would be furious but legally, he could. He has that right, as his alpha.

Freddie looks up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks. “There are only a few more shows,” he says placatingly. “And some of them are in the same city, we won’t be travelling as much. I _can_ do it, I’m just tired tonight, that’s all.”

Brian looks down at him, tenderly swiping his thumb across his cheek to wipe his tears away. “You’re not going to get any less tired, Freddie,” he says gently. “You need to save your strength. Keep healthy.”

“I _am_ healthy, I’m okay,” Freddie insists, reaching up to hold onto Brian’s hands. “I _can_ do it, I swear to you. _Please_ don’t make me cancel anything else, we’ve already had to cancel so much, I can’t stand it.” 

Brian sighs, torn. He wants to put a stop to it all, wrap Freddie up and hide him away from the world, keep everyone’s eyes away from him and keep him _safe_ until the babies are here, happy and healthy, but he’s gotten used to fighting those urges recently. He knows it’s all just instinctual but it’s _hard_ ; most omegas would be spending this time at home, resting and preparing, but Freddie’s never been like most omegas.

“ _Please_ ,” Freddie whispers, gazing at Brian. “I’ll rest all day before each show, I swear, and after. There’s only a few more, Brian, _please_.”

“There’s more than a few,” Brian says, pursing his lips. There must be at least seven shows left in four or five different cities. 

“I _can_ do it,” Freddie swears.

Brian glances at Roger and John, and he can see in their faces that they’re uncertain as well. None of them want to cancel but Freddie’s health has to be a priority.

“If you think even for a _second_ that you can’t do it, I want you to tell me at once,” Brian tells him firmly. “And if _I_ think even for a second that you can’t, then it’s over. Okay?”

Freddie nods, kissing Brian’s hands. “I’ll be fine,” he promises, smiling up at him. “It’s just the last stretch now and we can go home.”

* * *

The last stretch, it turns out, is too far. The very next day, Freddie spends most of his afternoon in the bathroom curled around the toilet and feeling thoroughly miserable, compounded by the fact that Brian’s not around because some scientist or other lives in this city and invited him for lunch.

Freddie makes Phoebe swear not to tell Brian that he’s been ill because he knows he’ll stop him from performing if he finds out and sucks as many mints as he can handle to keep the nausea at bay while he gets ready for the show.

Brian comes to check on him as soon as he gets back, holding him close and scenting him thoroughly, giving him a suspicious look when he finally pulls back. “Are you alright?” he asks. “I thought I felt something a bit off earlier.”

Freddie’s face is a picture of confusion. “No,” he says airily. “I’m fine, darling, I’ve been napping most of today. How was your lunch?”

He keeps Brian distracted talking about that while they get ready, practising his breathing and taking tiny sips of water every now and then when Brian’s looking the other way.

He knows he shouldn’t go on, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s trying to prove to himself; what does it matter if they cancel a few shows? There’s something far more important now. But Freddie doesn’t know how he’d forgive himself for cancelling yet _more_ when he’s not even halfway through this pregnancy yet. The entire American tour is already gone, the tickets refunded because they have no idea when they’ll be able to reorganise the shows or even if people will still want to come at that point—cancelling more on top of that just feels like they’d be taking the piss. The fans would surely be furious, especially with so little notice, and he can only imagine the press. They’ve already been having a field day on the front of every magazine going, article after article about how he can’t cope, the shows are suffering, the band won’t survive. Are Brian and Freddie equipped to be parents when all they know how to do is play mediocre songs? Is it even Brian’s? Freddie _was_ spotted with whichever Alpha-Of-The-Week they’ve dreamt up for him now, perhaps it’s _his_. 

They’ve never, ever liked the fact that Queen’s frontman is an omega, they’ve always said he’ll be the one to ruin the band eventually. And he refuses to prove them all right.

As soon as he steps on-stage, though, he knows he shouldn’t have. He can’t keep sucking mints while he’s singing so the nausea is back with full force and even the adrenaline can’t keep it at bay. He struggles through three songs with as much energy as he can muster before disappearing to be sick, grabbing a cup of water as he returns to the stage to the sound of Brian, John and Roger improvising a little jam session to cover for him.

“Sorry, darlings,” Freddie says into his mic, for once not throwing his water over the crowd but sipping at it, trying to catch his breath. “I wish I could say I was hungover after a _very_ rock’n’roll night but I’d be lying. Why the fuck do they call it morning sickness when what they _really_ mean is every-minute-of-the-fucking- _day_ sickness?”

The crowd cheers—evidently they have some mothers in the audience—and Freddie relaxes a bit, subtly trying to slip off-stage whenever Brian’s playing his solos but he knows Brian’s noticed how often he’s ducking away, can feel his concern coming through their bond in waves.

It peaks when Freddie—stupidly—drops to his knees to dance, thrusting upward as he sings. He’s starting to feel a bit better, like he’s finally past today’s sickness, only then he can’t fucking get up. 

He isn’t _massive_ yet but there’s definitely a lot more of him than there used to be and his centre of gravity is all over the place, his limbs a bit shaky—how had he not realised that?—when he tries to push himself upright. He fucks up singing the verse, playing it off a bit and just singing from his knees until Brian marches over, abandoning his guitar part as he pulls Freddie to his feet with a _look_. 

Freddie tries to ignore Brian’s mood and shoots a dazzling smile at the crowd as he picks the song back up, breathing an inward sigh of relief when the guitar joins in from behind, but he’s not at all surprised when Brian puts his foot down immediately after the show.

“That’s it,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “We’re cancelling the rest. You are not going back out there.”

“Bri—”

“Freddie,” Brian cuts him off, sharply. “ _Don’t_. I am telling you, as your alpha, you are _not_ going back out there. I forbid it. I’m calling Gerry tonight, and John. You’re done. You need to rest.”

Freddie knew it was coming but he still doesn’t take it with grace. He cries, and cries, and cries. From the moment Brian tells him, he cries in the car on the way back to the hotel, while Brian makes an overseas call to John and tells him to make arrangements to cancel the remaining dates, while he’s slowly sipping a calming cup of tea while wrapped in his softest omegan blanket, when Roger and John come to their room and sit with them for a while.

“In all honesty, I’m quite glad to be going home,” John says bracingly, trying to cheer Freddie up. “Seeing you all pregnant makes me miss Ronnie so bad.”

Freddie only sniffs and curls his hands around his cup and leans in close to Brian. “I’m so sorry,” he says weakly, closing his eyes as more tears spill out. “I really think I could—”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Brian interrupts. “Don’t be sorry. It’s my decision. If anyone wants to be angry, they can be angry with me.”

Roger shakes his head. “It’s the right decision. Freddie, you know it is.”

Freddie ducks his head. “The timing’s all wrong.”

“So what?” Deaky says, topping his drink up. “There’s never a perfect time to have a kid. Or two. We’re always going to be on tour, or about to go on tour.”

“He’s right,” Roger says. “Besides, it’s good to have a break, we’ve been doing this for years now without stopping.”

“We’ll still—still see each other though, won’t we?” Freddie asks suddenly, his eyes going wide.

Roger laughs. “Of course! You think I’m gonna just abandon you the second we get home? I want to see if these poor kids get Brian’s nose.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Brian laughs, self-consciously rubbing his nose.

John snorts. “I’m pretty sure I could see it on the sonogram,” he says, and Brian shoves him.

Freddie can’t help but laugh, even through his tears. “They’re right, darling,” he says with a watery smile. “You can pull that thing off but I don’t know if anything smaller than you could.”

“I’m going solo,” Brian announces loudly, which makes Freddie laugh again, though he leans heavily into Brian a moment later to reassure himself that Brian doesn’t mean it.

Brian, knowing what he wants, puts his arm around him and holds him close while they all find mindless things to chatter about, just enjoying each others’ company for tonight. The future can sort itself out; none of them have any doubt that the band will be back, likely back in the studio before long and definitely back on tour one day, but for now they don’t need to worry about that. For tonight, and for a little while now, they get to just be _them_ , not Queen but four friends, and it feels long overdue.

* * *

Brian has Freddie on a plane home the next day. And for all he’d cried that the tour had been cancelled, Freddie doesn’t think he’s ever felt relief like he does when he steps through their front door.

They’re _home_. 

It hits him hard and his eyes immediately fill with tears as Brian appears at his shoulder, dropping their carry-on bags in the hallway as cats come running from all directions to greet them.

Freddie almost kneels down instinctively to stroke them but Brian manages to catch him before he does, taking his elbow. “Why don’t you go and sit down for a bit, baby?” he asks, steering him toward the living room. “I’ll bring you a tea.”

Freddie has a proper cry once he’s sat in his favourite chair with four cats all vying for his attention, rubbing against him and purring deliciously—he misses that sound so terribly when they’re on the road. “Oh, my darlings,” he murmurs to them, burying his face in Delilah’s fur and accidentally getting her all wet with his tears.

“Freddie?” Brian asks as he finally steps through with two cups in his hands. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing!” Freddie insists, even though that seems ridiculous when he’s crying uncontrollably. “I’m just—really happy to be home.” This is his _home_ , this is where their babies will grow up, right here in these rooms. Soon there will be tiny feet on the floorboards and tiny voices calling for them at all hours of the day, and all of a sudden it feels far too soon to be happening and all too long to wait. 

“Oh,” Brian sighs fondly, coming over to sit next to him and giving Freddie exactly what he needs, which is a big cuddle. “You can relax now, Freddie. No more touring, no crazy schedule. Just you here, safe, and happy, and healthy.” 

Freddie leans into him, careful not to squish Romeo between them, and doesn’t even try to stop the tears, because it’s no use. He just lets them come, lets everything wash over him, and Brian holds him and soothes him and doesn’t once tell him he’s being ridiculous, which Freddie’s sure he is. It’s just that things feel very _real_ , somehow, suddenly. Before it was ‘after the tour’ when he’d start thinking about things, about getting ready, about trying to prepare himself. And that’s come a lot sooner than expected, it’s _now_ ; the end is still several months off, but it feels like it’s staring Freddie in the face.

“There’s so much to _do_ ,” he gasps at Brian, fruitlessly trying to wipe his tears away even though there are only more to replace them seconds later. “We haven’t gotten anything ready at all! We have so much to buy, we need to get a nursery ready, and now we need _two_ of everything! Is the house even big enough for two children?”

“Freddie,” Brian laughs, not unkindly, “this place is a _mansion_ , it’s big enough for a dozen children.”

That makes Freddie choke, which at the very least manages to trip the tears up and stop them in their tracks. “A dozen!” Freddie exclaims, clutching at his stomach. “I’m still trying to deal with the first two you’ve put in me!”

Brian can’t help but grin and kiss him, because he’s _Freddie_ and because he could never help himself before; there’s no hope of it now that he’s pregnant, especially not when he reminds Brian that _he did that_. That bump is there because of _him_ , they’re _his_ children. It fills him up with heady pride whenever he thinks about it, makes him feel grounded and powerful.

“Ten more after,” Brian tells him, pulling Freddie down to lie on the sofa with him, gently working his knee between Freddie’s legs and kissing him again. “We could have three bands out of them.”

“God,” Freddie says, opening his mouth for Brian, “I’d be pregnant for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” Brian hums. “I love you like this.” He really _would_ have Freddie pregnant for the rest of his life if he could, he can’t believe how much he _loves_ it. Though he _does_ miss Freddie’s heat; he’s not about to wish a second of this pregnancy away but he _will_ be pleased to have Freddie fevered and desperate for his alpha’s knot again, just days of _them_ , together and perfect. Freddie’s sex drive is still very much there but it’s not the same as having him in heat; Brian always used to look forward to that, and Freddie rarely lets him knot him otherwise.

“Are all alphas this insufferably proud?” Freddie asks as Brian presses both hands possessively against his stomach, though the (already mild) irritation in the words is rather dulled by Brian’s mouth against his.

Brian only laughs. “Only the ones who have you as their mate.” Only _him_.

* * *

As though trying to prove Brian right that cutting the tour short was the best thing all around (after two days, when Freddie’d woken up in their own bed and had some time at home to really relax, he and Brian had had a _minor_ falling out over whether or not it had been the right decision—Freddie’s _certain_ he could have done the rest of the dates) the twins start kicking a few days later. 

Brian’s in his study making a list of things they need to buy when Freddie, who’d been having lunch with Mary on the other side of the house, suddenly comes bursting in.

“Darling!”

Although he can’t feel any distress through the bond, Brian’s first instinct is a flare of panic and he jumps up out of his seat. “What’s wrong?”

“Come and feel! Oh, _quickly_ , Brian!”

They meet halfway across the room and Freddie grabs Brian’s hands, pressing them against his stomach, focusing intently.

“What—?”

And then Brian feels it; a tiny thump against his palm. He blinks, stunned, and then laughs delightedly when another thump follows. 

“Is that…?” he asks, awed, pressing a bit harder. The baby kicks again, as though Brian’s jostled them, and Brian laughs again, this time with tears springing into his eyes. “Oh, baby! Hello,” he murmurs, swallowing hard.

“That’s your daddy,” Freddie says softly, his hands over Brian’s. He’s trying hard to battle back his own tears; it’s quite nice to _not_ be the one crying for once, though he senses that it’s a losing battle.

“Is that the first time it’s happened?” Brian asks him, still holding onto him though the thumps seem to have stopped.

Freddie nods, feeling like he might burst with happiness. “I thought I could feel something last night but I didn’t realise what it was, it wasn’t as strong as that.”

“What about the other one?” 

Freddie moves one of Brian’s hands around to the other side and down a bit. “I think he’s over here,” he says, focusing inwardly and thinking. “He hasn’t kicked me yet though.”

“Or she,” Brian points out.

Freddie smiles at him. “Or she,” he agrees. “They could both be ‘she’s.” He can’t wait to find out. Brian wants it to be a surprise but Freddie’s working on wearing him down; he wants to make sure they can prepare as much as possible, decorate accordingly and get all the right clothes. He knows it’s a bit old-fashioned but if there’s a boy he wants him to have little blue sweaters and t-shirts with dinosaurs on them, and for a girl pink dresses and tiny skirts and little bows.

“Little Martha,” Brian suggests, grinning as he preempts Freddie’s reaction.

“Oh, God no!” Freddie says at once, not wanting to take his hands off of Brian’s to bat at him so blowing offendedly in his face instead.

Brian blinks and snorts. “No? Martha May?”

“You can fuck off,” Freddie tells him in no uncertain terms. “I’m choosing their names, I’m the one making them.”

“I don’t bloody think so,” Brian says just as Mary pokes her head around the door to check that everything’s okay and, now that the action’s over, call Freddie back to lunch so Brian can carry on with his list.

* * *

It is a long list. And Freddie isn’t sure _how_ , possibly because Brian just seems to have a talent for it, but over the next week he somehow acquires a small library’s worth of _books_. While Freddie has been to-ing and fro-ing about between the upstairs bedrooms, trying to decide which works best for a nursery, Brian has been _reading_.

Freddie makes a face when he ventures into Brian’s study one evening and sees the piles—literally _piles_ of them—on Brian’s desk.

“Darling,” he says with no small amount of distaste, picking one up and glancing at the cover. _The Omegan Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy_. “What are all these?”

Brian looks at him like he’s slow. “Books,” he says simply. “That one’s for you, I’ve got a few here I want you to read.”

Freddie scowls. “Can’t you just read them and tell me the important parts?” He’s never been much for books; he doesn’t mind a magazine on occasion, particularly if he’s on a plane and doesn’t have any other choice, but books aren’t really his thing. 

“I _have_ read them already,” Brian tells him, digging through to pull out _three_ more of the things. “These are the ones I think you’ll find useful.”

Freddie’s aghast. “Four!” He puts the book he’d been holding back down. “If I’d known you were going to try and make me read _books_ I never would have let you impregnate me.”

“You didn’t _let_ me do anything, it was an accident and you know it,” Brian replies, unphased. “There’ll be more to read after those so you’d best get started.”

Freddie doesn’t make a move to pick any of them up. He’s already carrying Brian’s children, he refuses to be given _homework_ by him as well. A distraction is in order.

“Darling, you’ve been hidden away down here for hours,” Freddie says, running his hands over Brian’s shoulders and massaging gently. “You need a little break. Come upstairs with me, I’ve decided on a room for the babies!” 

He hasn’t, and he needs to think _fast_ on the way upstairs, but Freddie doesn’t want to be lumbered with four fucking textbooks as bedtime reading. Brian can be strict sometimes when he gets an idea in his head and if he wants Freddie to read those things he’ll bloody well insist on it, which Freddie is keen to avoid at all costs.

It _does_ work; Brian lights up and stands, gesturing at Freddie to lead the way. He’d been quite happy to just use the next biggest room as the nursery but Freddie had wanted to make sure the choice had been _perfect_. He’s been thinking about it for days but it turns out he has no idea _what_ makes a room perfect for a nursery so he’s no closer to making a decision than he was when they first discussed it. There’s probably a checklist in one of those books— _which_ , Freddie notices as Brian follows him from the study, Brian has tucked under his arm.

_Damn_. 

“This one,” Freddie announces grandly, showing Brian into the room Brian himself had first suggested as a nursery.

Wisely, Brian doesn’t point this out. He just smiles down at Freddie and loops his free arm around his waist, tucking him against his side. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Freddie breathes, and all of a sudden he’s sure that this _is_ the perfect decision even though it was just made a split second ago. He can just imagine it once it’s all decorated, sunlight pouring in over their two perfect babies asleep in their cots.

Freddie gasps softly and puts his hand over his mouth, staring around. “ _Yes_ ,” he says again, nodding. “It’s just perfect, isn’t it?”

“It’s a good choice,” Brian commends, looking around. _Any_ choice is a good choice at this point; Freddie’s been dithering about it for a week while simultaneously freaking out because they don’t have anything ready yet. Brian wishes he could’ve just decided for him but the books (and his father, Bomi, John, and just about every other alpha he knows who’s had a child) all say that he needs to let Freddie take charge of this part. 

Though, speaking of books…

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Brian says sweetly, handing the four books off to Freddie, who takes them with palpable reluctance. “No sex until you’ve at least started one of them,” he adds as he heads downstairs to the kitchen to make tea.

It’s a good threat; he hears Freddie’s indignant huff from behind but when glances back it’s to see him diligently measuring to see which is the shortest. He starts it that night. 

* * *

With the room decided, Freddie begins nesting in earnest.

Brian, who’s been keen to get started on this since they arrived home, picks up his list and drives Freddie into the city to start looking at paint swatches the day after Phoebe’s arranged a team of men to come in and strip the chosen room back to its bare bones.

Brian had thought to get a few things ticked off today but choosing paint takes longer than it’s taken them to record some Queen tracks. More accurately, it takes _Freddie_ longer to choose paint than it does to record a song. Brian makes a few suggestions which are all mostly shot down with no small amount of stroppiness and contents himself with sipping his cup of coffee and lingering at Freddie’s shoulder as he compares two very similar shades of yellow.

Then switches to look at some greens. Then pale blues. Then back to yellow. Or maybe a light grey? No, yellow. But they could have a nice, light cream with pink and blue accents?

“Darling!” Freddie snaps after nearly two hours of this, all but stamping his foot. He’s already scared off three different shop assistants who made the mistake of coming up and asking if he needed a hand with anything. Brian’s half-wishing he had an excuse to follow them to wherever they went, far from Freddie’s vicinity. 

“You’re not _helping_! Which do you think?”

“You don’t _want_ my help, Fred,” Brian says tiredly, peering over his mate’s shoulder to look at the colours all the same. Both yellow. Both such nearly identical yellows that Brian feels himself going cross-eyed trying to find a difference between them. “That one,” he says, pointing to the one on the left.

Predictably, Freddie makes a face at this choice. “I think I prefer this one,” he says, looking at the one on the right.

Brian pretends to really consider it. “Hmm...I think you’re right,” he (tactically) concedes. “You’ve more of an eye for this sort of thing than me, Fred.”

Happily, that seems to settle it and, after Brian’s checked all the labels and spoken with two separate shop managers to ensure the paint is safe for use while pregnant, they put in an order for enough to do the entire room. 

Brian had wanted to get more than that done today but by the time they’re walking out of the shop, heads down, hats on, Freddie’s exhausted and even Brian’s not feeling up to being more productive than that so he just takes them home.

There, Freddie suddenly finds more energy than he’s had in days. 

“The curtains need to be washed,” he says suddenly, getting up from where he and Brian had been having a nice little cuddle on the sofa. “Help me get them down!”

Brian blinks, startled and a little colder all along his side where Freddie had been laid just seconds before. “What? What’s wrong with the curtains?”

“They’re filthy! We can’t have these up when the babies come!”

The babies aren’t due for several months but there’s no reasoning with him. Brian has to physically stop Freddie, who has never done a day’s housework in his entire life, from clambering onto a chair to unhook the damn curtains.

Phoebe is summoned with haste and Freddie immediately puts both of them to work. The living room curtains are only the first victims of his cleaning crusade; Brian is put in charge of getting _every other set of curtains in the house_ off their damn rails and into boxes ready to be taken to be laundered. Phoebe is set to work stripping cushions, sofas, and beds of any strippable covers and all reasonable attempts at, ‘Freddie this will only have to be done all over again before they get here’ fall on deaf ears.

Freddie’s relentless. Brian isn’t sure if he’s more irritated or impressed. He’s impressed when Freddie actually scrubs the oven ( _himself_!) but when he dusts every piece of china they have he smashes two dishes that cost a fucking fortune at a bloody auction Freddie’d insisted on going to last year.

The floors get polished to gleaming and Freddie manages to figure out how to work the hoover, though he only vacuums one floor before he’s tired of it and makes Brian do the rest. 

Skirting boards get scrubbed, lampshades get pulled down and dusted, the hinges on the doors are polished. There’s not a speck of dust to be found anywhere in the house and there’s a pleasant smell of detergent in the air when all the cushion covers and curtains are returned to their rightful places.

The nursery is painted (a joint effort between Freddie, Brian, and Roger who stops by and nearly laughs himself into hysterics upon seeing Freddie with a cleaning rag and a bucket) a charming yellow colour and Freddie finds a lovely cream rug in a catalogue that he orders and they lay it over the hardwood floor.

In amongst the cleaning and decorating frenzy Freddie is called to the hospital what feels like every other week for more check-ups and scans to ensure everything is progressing as it should be—Brian’s still over the moon that they’re having two but because of the higher risk it feels like there’s always a doctor’s appointment on the calendar. He had managed to win the argument about not finding out the sexes (it had been easy once he happened on the right persuasion; they can buy everything gender-neutral now, and then Freddie can go shopping _again_ after they’re born) but every time they go in for another scan he’s worried that Freddie’s nerve won’t hold and he’ll demand to know what they’re having.

Freddie fills two dressers with tiny baby clothes in an array of colours and starts making noises about buying another set of drawers to put more clothes in before Brian puts a stop to it.

“They’re going to grow out of all this in a few weeks anyway, Freddie!” he says, exasperated as Freddie carefully folds up teeny tiny baby-grows and tries to squash them into the already over-packed drawer.

He’s getting frustrated because it’s hard to get the onesie in, even though it’s so small, and he sniffs hard when Brian snaps at him.

“I just want everything to be _perfect_ ,” he says tearfully. “I don’t want them _ever_ to go without. We have to be just _perfect_ for them, this place has to be perfect, they _have_ to have everything they need!”

“Freddie,” Brian says softly, taking the baby-grow out of his hands and tossing it on top of the dresser so he can pull Freddie in for a hug. “It’s going to be fine. We’re all on track. We’ve got more clothes than an _army_ of babies could possibly wear and I’m sure people are going to buy us more anyway.”

“What about cots!” Freddie bursts out. “We still haven’t picked cots! Or Moses baskets! And we need extra changing mats, and a changing table for downstairs! And—”

“Freddie,” Brian says calmly, in his _calm alpha_ voice, holding Freddie tight and slowly shuffling him out of the half-furnished nursery. “That’s all on my list. We’ll sort it, okay?”

Freddie lets himself be walked back to their bedroom but he doesn’t let it go. “What about bottles? We need to buy bottles.”

“They’re on the list, baby.”

“And car seats!”

“On the list,” Brian assures him, guiding Freddie into bed and pulling him close, kissing his hair and gently rubbing his thumbs into Freddie’s shoulders. “In fact I have _four_ on my list—two for my car and two for yours. And I’ve already spoken to Terry, he’s going to come over when we’ve bought them and learn how to get them in and out, okay?”

Freddie finally relaxes a bit, soothed by Brian’s words and the practised motions of his hands—even when he wasn’t pregnant Freddie’s always been a highly-strung omega and Brian’s always been adept at calming him down, even before they ever bonded.

“Do you remember doing this in the old flat?” Freddie whispers after a long moment, torn between turning so he can face Brian and staying right where he is so Brian’s hands can continue to work their magic.

Brian laughs, his breath ghosting over the back of Freddie’s neck, and his lips trace a light pattern there a second later. “Yeah, course I do.”

Freddie lets out a long sigh, letting his eyes slide closed. He’s always so _tired_ these days. “My father would have killed you if he knew.”

Brian snorts properly at that and can’t disagree. Freddie’s parents had been disapproving enough about Freddie living with alphas while he was still unbonded; they’d have had kittens if they knew how often Brian used to slip into his bed while he was on the verge of a panic attack and gentle him until he calmed down. Looking back, it seems almost inevitable that they’d bond eventually. 

“I love you,” Freddie says, choked up. He struggles to turn around and clutches Brian as close as he can, nuzzling into him and wiping his sudden tears on Brian’s chest.

Brian holds him tight. “I love you, too,” he says gently, curling his arm under Freddie’s head and kissing his claim mark. 

“Soon it won’t be—just the two of us,” Freddie gets out, squeezing his eyes closed. He doesn’t know why this has suddenly come over him but he’s stopped being surprised by the journeys his emotions take him on, these days. “It’s all going to be _different_.”

“I know,” Brian says quietly, rubbing his back. “It _will_ be different. But it’s going to be amazing, sweetheart.”

“You won’t love me the same any more,” Freddie insists, keeping his face hidden. His chest is squeezing painfully tight around these fears, fears he’d barely even realised were lurking in him until they’ve suddenly sprung to the surface. “I don’t want to share you!”

“Oh, Freddie,” Brian says, holding him as tightly as he dares. “I’m as yours as I’ve always been.” He swipes his thumb gently over his mark to prove it, and because it’ll help calm Freddie down. “It would be impossible for me to stop loving you even a little bit, even to share some with our babies. They’re all new,” he murmurs to him, loosening his grip a bit to get Freddie to look at him. “You don’t love _me_ any less, do you?”

“Of course not!”

“There you go, then,” Brian says, in that way he has where he can just make things so simple, sometimes. Make things make _sense_.

Freddie breathes out.

“You must feel that our bond’s stronger now than it’s ever been,” Brian tells him, kissing his forehead and planting one hand on Freddie’s chest, over his heart. “I love you more than I ever have, which I didn’t think was possible. We’re having _children_ , Freddie. You and me. _Parents_.” 

Brian has to clear his throat suddenly, a little choked up himself. He’s been finding that a lot, recently, and he can’t ever tell how much is from himself and how much is Freddie’s emotions going haywire and frizzing across their bond.

It doesn’t matter, anyway; at the end of the day, it’s the same thing. They’re a unit, _bonded_. A perfect pair.

“Get some sleep,” he says softly, reaching over Freddie to click the lamp off. “We can go out tomorrow and look at cots.”

Freddie, calmed, settles against him. “What about a new dresser for clothes?” he asks sleepily.

He’s adorable but it’s not going to work.

Brian only laughs. “Nice try.”

* * *

The cots actually end up being easy to choose; their theme in the nursery is dark wood which limits their choice quite nicely and Freddie falls in love with one as soon as he sees it. It’s more simple than Brian thought he’d go for but after he’d veto-ed antique furniture for their children, and talked some sense into Freddie about modern safety and _cleanliness_ , Freddie’s been far more tolerant of nice, brand new, shop-bought items.

The car seats are another matter.

It’s Brian who gets frustrated with it all.

“Why are they all so _complicated_?” he hisses under his breath, vigorously shaking one to try and get the bloody handle to open.

“You have to press the button—”

“I _am_!” Brian can play guitar with the best of them, which requires quite a bit of dexterity, but fuck if he can figure out how one is meant to press all the right buttons at the right time while _also_ flipping the handle over to be able to get the damn baby in. Maybe if he had three extra hands it’d be do-able but unfortunately he’s only human.

“Let’s look at a different one,” Freddie suggests, gently tugging the seat away from his alpha and abandoning it on the shelf, shuffling Brian along the aisle. “I didn’t like the colour of that one, anyway.”

They’re all built in a similar, difficult fashion. Brian’s temper’s near fraying point by the time they’ve looked at three different ones and found them all to be equally impossible to work. 

He manages to get the handle to depress properly on one of them with relative ease but it requires two hands.

“I’m going to have a _baby_ in the other hand!” Brian points out, incensed. “Who designed these things?” Worse, he’ll sometimes have _two_ babies in his arms so what he really needs is a car seat that requires _no_ hands to work, one that just _works_. 

Freddie, sensing that Brian’s only going to get more wound up, wraps both arms around him to draw him out of the car seat section and over toward the pushchairs, which he’s been more keen to look at anyway. 

“Oh, look at this one!” he coos, immediately springing on a lovely blue upright thing, grasping the handles.

“They’ll be too small for that, yet, Fred,” Brian says, looking at the one Freddie’s grabbed. “That’ll be for when they’re toddlers.”

Freddie, who’d mostly been trying to distract Brian, has a proper look at the buggy and lets go of it. “Oh, of course, darling. Well we could always buy it now for when they’re older, it’s just beautiful.”

Brian arches an eyebrow and doesn’t bother verbalising the clear, _No_. Freddie’s always been a nightmare for shopping but _baby shopping_ has quickly become his favourite. Even Brian, who can usually talk sense into him even at the crazed moment just before purchase, hasn’t been able to curb him very much, torn as he is between stopping Freddie from spending their entire combined fortune and stepping back and letting him nest however he needs to. 

“We need one that’ll carry both of them, anyway,” Brian says, putting a hand on Freddie’s waist and guiding him across the shop to see what other options they have. 

There are even more options for pushchairs than there had been for car seats, though only a few that’ll carry two children. Not that that stops Freddie from laying his hands on every single pram and pushing it up and down the aisle to check how nicely it drives, somehow making himself a little tearful as he does but calming Brian right down quite by accident. Brian couldn’t care less how they feel to push about, he thinks he’d quite happily stand here for an hour and just watch Freddie test them all out; he looks so _proper_ while he’s doing it, Brian feels like he’s about to burst with pride as he trundles along, so clearly pregnant, so clearly smelling of Brian, his claim mark visible high on his neck. 

Then he tries to turn, misjudges the distance, and knocks a big display of stuffed animals over into the aisle. 

“Oh, fuck!” Freddie cries out, watching in dismay as a myriad of elephants, tigers, bears, and giraffes go tumbling around his feet and under the wheels of the pushchair just as Brian leaps forward to stop him from trying to pick them up himself.

“Don’t worry about it, Fred, I’ll sort it,” Brian says quickly, having visions of Freddie unable to get up and, thus forcibly reminded of his growing body, inconsolable with tears for the rest of the night. “Not that one, then?” he asks with a wry grin, collecting armfuls of teddies and trying to put them back into a neat pile, somewhat impossible because Freddie grabs about six out of his hands and claims them for their children.

“Probably not,” Freddie admits, flushing. “It would only fit one baby, anyway. We’d have to get two and we’d only ever be able to go out together so we could take both.”

Brian quite likes the idea of that, of knowing Freddie wouldn’t go out without him, knowing that he’d always be there with his mate and his children whenever they were out, but he knows that would be ridiculous. 

“Let’s look at the double ones, then,” Brian suggests, taking Freddie’s hand and starting to look properly. 

They end up calling a shop assistant over to talk them through various benefits (of which there are many), cons (of course, none at all), and prices (which Brian cannot _believe_ ) but they do end up choosing one before the shop closes and Freddie’s practically _glowing_ with all the seratonin of a successful shopping trip.

* * *

Easy as they had been to choose, the cots are _not_ easy to put together.

They’d come in boxes, which had been the first warning sign, and about eight hundred bits apiece.

Brian isn’t much of a handyman but he’s determined to do this himself so he finds himself up in the nursery after dinner one night, surrounded by pieces of cot and a twenty page instruction booklet that’s about as helpful as a chocolate teapot.

Freddie is even _less_ helpful when he comes in to watch, flicking through the instructions just when Brian needs to consult them, accidentally knocking the screws flying, and questioning every move Brian makes.

“Are you _sure_ that’s the right piece, darling?” and “I don’t think that’s where that goes” until Brian’s lost all patience.

“Freddie,” he says, a little sharper than he means to, and reins his temper back in when he catches the look on Freddie’s face. _You’re not mad at him, just the fucking cots_ , he reminds himself. “Do you mind getting me a coffee, love?” he asks forced-pleasantly, taking the instructions out of Freddie’s hands. “I want to get these finished tonight but I’m getting tired.”

He’s not, really—always been a night owl—but Freddie’s hopeless at making coffee so it’ll get rid of him for at least half an hour.

Freddie, eager to help, disappears off at once and Brian shuts the door behind him so he can focus all of his brain power on this ridiculously complicated task.

“Come on, May,” he mutters to himself, peering at the manual. “You were going to be a _doctor_ for Christ's sake.”

Without Freddie there to distract him and now that he’s read the instructions through about four times, Brian’s actually able to make decent progress. He has one fully made up and pushed into the corner for Freddie to decide where exactly he wants it and he’s halfway through the second by the time his mate returns with two cups in hand.

“Oh!” Freddie lets out, surprised as he stands framed in the doorway and stares. “ _Darling_!” he marvels, coming over and sitting right next to Brian, putting the cups down. “Aren’t you clever.”

Brian eyes him for a moment, slightly confused because he can tell through the bond and by the look on Freddie’s face that he’s _aroused_ , somehow. Not one to waste such an opportunity, Brian abandons his allen key for the moment and leans over to kiss him, gratified when Freddie immediately opens his mouth and lets Brian’s tongue inside.

“Mmm,” Brian hums, pulling back and turning back to his project. “What’s gotten into you?”

Freddie has no idea. He just knows that he doesn’t care about these cots at all right now, he wants Brian’s attention on _him_. He’s so proud to be Brian’s mate, is sure that every omega on the planet must be _seething_ with jealousy that Freddie has him, that _Freddie_ wears his mark, _Freddie_ is carrying his children. He’s so good, he’s going to be the best father ever, already making sure their children have everything they need, building their cots up out of all those little pieces. 

“When will you be finished, darling?” Freddie asks, unhelpfully draping himself over Brian’s back and nuzzling into his neck.

Brian can’t help but laugh, bracing himself so Freddie doesn’t knock him over. “Not long.”

Freddie kisses his jaw, very distractingly, but Brian doesn’t mind being distracted like _this_. 

“Can’t you finish them tomorrow?” Freddie whispers, kissing him some more, letting his hands wander down Brian’s chest. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I’m nearly done, Freddie,” Brian says gently, trying to focus on tightening another bolt.

Freddie leans right in. “I’ll let you knot me,” he promises.

Brian tosses the key aside without hesitation and turns to recapture his mouth.

They don’t even make it out of the nursery.

* * *

The cots are built, the pushchair is delivered, and Freddie chooses Moses baskets for their bedroom for the twins to sleep in for the first few months. He manages to wear Brian down and buys another dresser for more clothes, though he does let himself be convinced that buying more newborn things is a waste so he starts in on the later months.

Freddie’s nausea finally seems to be abating and he develops a feverish desperation for anything _orange_. He makes his way through a bag of oranges a day, pints and pints of orange juice, and buys dozens of tubes of Smarties just to pick the orange ones out.

Mary helpfully finds him an orange scented candle that he takes to burning every hour of the day and which makes Brian feel slightly ill so he’s relieved when Freddie burns it so much it melts away within a week.

He’s _more_ than willing to forgive the pervasive smell of oranges in the house though because as they get to the end of the second trimester, Freddie’s sex drive goes through the roof and it’s all Brian can do to keep up with him.

They can spend entire days in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom or bring back something to eat (oranges) or drink (orange juice). 

It’s not the same as having Freddie in heat, it’s different but it’s still good. They have to change things up with their positions because with the bump it’s a little more difficult than it used to be, but they’ve always been creative in bed.

Freddie flushes bright red when Brian asks their doctor if it’s safe for them to continue and then asks advice on what positions they should use, but he doesn’t hesitate putting it into practice once they get home.

Brian doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of being buried deep inside Freddie with his hands on his stomach. In the beginning Freddie had tried to cover himself up with blankets, still self-conscious of how he looks, until he finally realised just how mad it drives Brian to be able to see him pregnant with his children while he’s fucking him. He gets so into it he accidentally re-opens Freddie’s claim mark twice.

It makes it much easier to bear the _multiple_ midnight runs Freddie sends him out on to fetch everything from more oranges, to a specific curry (“With _extra_ papadums, Brian, don’t forget to order extra!”) from a specific place halfway across the city, to a mega-pack of newborn nappies. This last one Brian tries to resist him on, gentling Freddie and assuring him they don’t need to buy nappies yet and if Freddie _really_ needs them this early on they can go out and buy them tomorrow, but it doesn’t work. Even with Brian’s legs wrapped around him and his hands over Freddie’s eyes, Freddie won’t let it go—they simply _need_ them now, he won’t sleep otherwise, wide awake worrying about the things they still have to sort out.

Deaky proves himself a godsend when it comes to finding car seats that work, having been around the block a few times himself. He tells Brian which brand he and Ronnie have used and Brian doesn’t even consult Freddie about it, just orders them, and he and John spend an hour fighting to get the damn things fixed into the cars.

Freddie’s so pleased about _that_ being ticked off the list he drags Brian directly to their bedroom and John beats a hasty retreat, recognising a single-minded omega on a mission when he sees one. 

The list slowly but surely dwindles down as the nursery comes together, Freddie gets bigger (Brian now has to help him with his socks each morning as he can’t reach), and the due date draws nearer.

The weather’s getting warmer but Brian starts finding _blankets_ everywhere he goes, nearly tripping over them as they hang off their bed, piles and piles of the things, omega-grade softness in muted colours and Freddie seems to return with more every time he makes a trip into town. Scatter cushions nearly overtake the entire bed, Brian spends what feels like hours of his life chucking them on the floor so he can lie down only for Freddie to scuttle around in the morning putting them right again and telling Brian off.

“Don’t you think we have enough blankets, love?” Brian asks gently one evening when Freddie comes shuffling into the living room wrapped in _another_ new one, arching his eyebrows. 

Freddie’s been napping and he looks all out of sorts, his hair ruffled and his eyes still half-lidded and sleepy as he walks to Brian without thinking, curling into his arms. 

“Feel how soft,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against the fabric where it’s now covering Brian’s chest before deciding he prefers his alpha’s shirt to the blanket and shoving it away to get at that instead. 

Brian reaches out to pluck at it as it falls to the floor and has to admit it _is_ very soft, just the sort of thing Freddie’s always loved. Brian used to buy them for him all the time years ago, wrapping him up in them while Freddie giggled, bundling him up in his arms as though he was just feeling how soft the blankets were, as though both of them weren’t aware of exactly what was happening between them.

Brian kisses his forehead and holds him close. “Love you,” he murmurs.

* * *

They argue about names a _lot_. Freddie likes unusual names (he _did_ give himself the name Mercury, Brian doesn’t know why he’s surprised) while Brian wants names that are strong and classic.

“Pluto? I could match!” Freddie suggests one day while they’re in the car on the way to Freddie’s parents for dinner.

“That’s the dog from Mickey Mouse, Freddie, we are not calling our child that,” Brian says firmly, though he gets such a thrill out of saying _our child_. He’s starting to get impatient for the end now, wanting to meet them, to be able to hold them in his arms and kiss them and tell them how much he loves them. He’s already wondering what their scents will be like, can hardly stop thinking about it.

“What about Zelda?”

“No way. Why not something nice and simple?” Brian suggests. “Charles or something. Like Charles Darwin.”

Freddie makes a face. “Ugh, no.” No child of his is being called _Charles_. 

“I think that’s cute! Charlie,” Brian says, trying it out, and Freddie whacks him on the shoulder.

“Absolutely not.” _Darwin_ , though...he could work this sort of angle, things Brian’s interested in. “What about Orion?”

Brian _does_ pause, considering it, before he shakes his head. “It’s too out-there, Fred.”

“I _like_ out-there! I don’t want our kids to have the same name as everyone else in school,” Freddie protests. He’s trying to think of more constellations but he doesn’t know many of them and they arrive at his parents before he can think of any that Brian likes.

_They_ have a bunch of suggestions, most of which Brian can’t pronounce though he diligently writes them down, pretending for all he’s worth like he’s truly considering them when Freddie _knows_ he’s a secret Charles-enthusiast. 

Brian’s suggestions all tend along that same sort of vein: Margaret, James, George, Elizabeth.

Freddie tells him he’s boring and locks himself away, assuring his ridiculous stomach that he won’t let their father give them rubbish names, calming himself as he feels them both kicking against his palms as though they can hear him. Their kicks are much stronger than the cute little taps they’d been in the beginning, enough to be uncomfortable when they catch him in _just_ the wrong place and he has to go darting for the toilet as fast as he can.

“You be nice to each other in there,” he mutters sternly, staring down and wondering if he’s crazy. Brian’s books all say they can hear them and Freddie never feels _alone_ any more, not with them, but still.

The books he so begrudgingly began reading have actually been both very helpful and utterly terrifying in one go. Usually if Brian knows that Freddie’s at least read a _bit_ of one he’ll cave in and read it aloud to him while Freddie curls up in his lap, heedless of the fact that he’s a lot bigger than he used to be and probably crushing Brian half to death. Brian never complains; he’s always loved it when Freddie’s clung to him and seems to enjoy it all the more now that Freddie’s pregnant and feeling more dependent than ever.

Freddie always makes Brian stop reading whenever they get to the points in the book that actually discuss birth, petrified just thinking about it, and lets Brian get educated enough for the both of them. He doesn’t want to think about it. He knows it’ll be worth it, of course, because they’ll have two incredible children but he just _wishes_ that mythical old stork could simply drop them down the chimney.

“Can’t you do it for me?” Freddie asks pitifully one night, staring wide-eyed at a nightmarish diagram in one of the books that he _really_ wishes Brian had flicked past a bit quicker.

“I wish I could,” Brian tells him, and Freddie can feel how sincerely he means that. He’s been struggling to accept that he can’t help as Freddie grows more and more uncomfortable each day, that he can’t actually fix any of this for him and that most of the time, there’s just no way of easing the discomfort. He can hold onto Freddie and cuddle him when he’s in hysterics because even the stretchiest of his maternity clothes don’t fit any more and he can help him out of chairs and out of bed and into the bath, but he can’t _fix_ any of it.

Freddie does get very tearful when the sickness starts coming back, frustrated now. He wants it to be over, he doesn’t feel beautiful no matter how much Brian tells him, he’s not _glowing_. He feels like a whale. He needs to piss every five minutes, can’t sleep for more than an hour at a time, can’t put his own fucking shoes on. He can’t bend over without being crippled by horrendous heartburn, can’t _eat_ anything without feeling so nauseous it’s almost not worth it. He’s so tired, so much more tired than he was in the beginning; that feels like a breeze compared to this now. Back then he’d felt so huge but looking at photographs (of which Brian has _many_ , obsessively documenting the entire thing the way he does) he can see it was just a neat little bump, so picture-perfect he could’ve been on the cover of an omegan housekeeping magazine. Of course, he _was_ on the cover of some magazines, most of which were _not_ very flattering about how he looked, but Brian stopped Freddie from reading those after a while.

They’ve been approached for interviews several times but Brian’s said a firm no to every single one of them, wanting this time for _them_. They don’t trust any of them, anyway; they’ve been burned too often before. Freddie doesn’t miss that side of things, the bitchy, back-stabbing nature of the business they landed themselves in, but he misses Queen. He misses their songs, he misses the audiences, he misses being on tour.

Roger and John visit quite a lot, often with more baby things in tow that Freddie delights over but they drive Brian spare; there’s barely room in the nursery to fit much more in there. It’s not the same as when they’re being a _band_ , though. 

The other two have both made noises about working on some solo material while Brian and Freddie are busy being parents and it makes Freddie feel like they’re being left behind, even though he knows that’s not true.

He needs to get back in the studio, though. Even if nothing comes of it, he _needs_ that, he’s been too long without it and it’s driving him crazy. He’d expected Brian to argue with him when he asked him to drive them over but he must be missing it too because he doesn’t speak a word of protest, just arranges for them to go in the next day.

And the next, and the next, and the next.

Freddie’s still uncomfortable but it helps, keeps him busy, keeps him distracted. Brian’s in his element once again, bounding around the studio trying out new things, singing the most random songs with absurd lyrics while he figures out his melodies and then occasionally moving Freddie to _tears_ by writing something so sincere it seizes him with emotion.

They’ve never even thought about doing an album together and it’s not their intention now, but they churn out a lot of material together. Freddie’s smile is back with full-force as he plants himself in the recording booth, headphones on, working on an insane number of songs as they both fly through material at break-neck speed on a creative high.

Brian takes dozens of photos of Freddie in there, Freddie pregnant and in his element, singing his heart out with his hands planted on his stomach, laughing as the twins kick along.

“They’re dancing,” he insists when Brian comes in and holds on to feel them, too. “This song’s going to be a hit, darling, see?”

Freddie’s favourite moments though are usually during the wind-down, back at home after an exhausting but successful day in the studio, when Brian sits beside Freddie with an acoustic guitar on his knee and sings softly to the three of them until Freddie falls asleep on the sofa, safe and warm and happy.

* * *

The time really starts to fly. Brian’s list is almost entirely ticked off; the nursery is done, the hospital bag is packed, the house is clean and the cats have all had a very reluctant wash. He’s even added both children to waiting lists for the best schools nearby. He books them onto antenatal classes as their due date starts to loom, which Freddie tries to dig his heels in about.

“Brian! I don’t _want_ to go to a fucking class with a load of _strangers_ and talk about—about _anything_!” he cries when Brian tells him and pencils the dates in on the calendar. 

“It’s a great chance to meet other new parents, Freddie,” Brian insists, not about to be swayed from this. “And they can tell us about all the stuff we don’t know about. We’ve never _done_ this before.”

“You’ve read about a million books!” Freddie protests. “You know everything there is to know!”

But Brian doesn’t budge and no amount of stroppy tantrums or sweet omega cajoling will change his mind, so at seven PM on a Wednesday they find themselves not comfortably at home eating dinner but sat in a room with several other couples they don’t know and a beta midwife who has a too-practised welcoming smile and tells them to call her _Bee_. What her actual name is, they have no idea.

“Everyone’s _looking_ at me,” Freddie growls into Brian’s ear, clutching him tightly, his nails digging in as anxiety creeps over him.

“Everyone’s looking at each other,” Brian assures him, putting an arm around him and holding him close all the same, busily eyeing up everyone else. Most people are paired off, though there are two women here alone—a lot of alphas in the room, all focused on their own omegas but Brian doesn’t like all the contrasting scents in the air. He likes it even less that Freddie’s scent is going to be off until they get home so Brian can make him shower and scent him properly again.

Once everyone’s filed in Bee has them all sit in a circle and arranges herself so everyone can see her, smiling around at them all.

“Now then, welcome, everyone,” she says softly, her voice just barely carrying to where Brian and Freddie sit just a few feet away. “I’m so excited to see you all here and to share this with you as you all take your first steps on this amazing new journey.”

Brian has to fight to keep his expression from changing but instantly he’s irritated by the patronising tone of her voice. 

“First of all I’d like everyone to introduce themselves—don’t tell us about your work or even your pregnancy just yet. I want to get to know _you_ , share an interesting fact about yourself with us,” Bee tells them, still smiling. “No matter what we do outside of these sessions,” here, Brian could swear her eyes linger on them for a moment though he’d been _assured_ over the phone that their fame wouldn’t be an issue, “we’re all in the same place here. The beginning.”

Nobody really wants to speak first but eventually the alpha sitting closest to Bee speaks up and gives his name and tells them he really loves Aston Villa football team. His omega goes next and they follow around in a circle until they get to Brian.

“I’m Brian,” he says, hastily quelling the instinct to introduce Freddie immediately after as he won’t thank him for it. “And I’m really interested in music and space.” It feels too broad to really count as anything about himself but Brian knows himself; if he starts trying to go into detail he won’t shut up until Freddie pinches him pointedly.

He can feel Freddie’s tension through their bond and holds his hand tightly as his turn comes next. 

“Hi everyone,” Freddie says, pulling his _Freddie Mercury_ smile on, pulling a bit of the persona around him to give him a boost of confidence. It’s strange, suddenly; it’s been a while since Brian saw that part of him. “This is our first pregnancy so we’re kind of shitting ourselves.” This earns several laughs of agreement and Freddie relaxes a bit. “And, um...I love cats. We have seven.”

He relaxes as the focus mostly moves away from him, though a few gazes remain not-so-subtly, people who obviously recognise them. Thankfully, they’re too polite to say anything just now and Brian hopes it remains that way; Bee was actually right, they _are_ all in the same position here. The fact that they’re musicians with a number of hit records doesn’t matter right now—Brian wants to learn as much as he can, without distraction.

After the introductions they’re made to split up so they can get to know the group a little bit better and Brian catches Freddie’s hand.

Freddie correctly interprets his look even before he opens his mouth. He rolls his eyes, so he must be feeling better about this whole thing. “Don’t worry, darling,” he says, giving him a quick kiss, “I won’t pair up with another alpha.”

He instead wanders toward one of the single mothers on the course and Brian walks over to the Aston Villa guy to talk to him for a while, defeating some of the point because most of his focus is on Freddie across the room and not Dave telling him that he and his mate have just moved house. 

There’s tea and biscuits after that, and then a run-through of the rest of the course. Bee gives them a handout showing what they’ll be covering each week, and that’s it. The first session done.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Brian says in the car on the way back, a little annoyed. What the hell is he even paying for?

“That woman _smiles_ far too much,” Freddie says, making a face. “Annette was lovely though, she’s having twins too! I’ve got her number here, we’re going to have tea or something next week. Won’t that be lovely?”

Brian smiles over at him as they hit a red light, immediately feeling more charitable toward the class. Half the point _was_ just to introduce Freddie to other omegas going through the same thing, after all.

“That’ll be really nice,” Brian agrees, pleased. “Shame there’s no other male omegas, though. I wonder if there’s another class?”

“God,” Freddie says, shuddering. “I think one will be _quite_ enough, darling. How was your football fanatic?”

“I don’t really remember,” Brian says honestly. He should feel bad but he doesn’t; he’s not there for other people, he’s there to learn anything he can to help Freddie. “I was busy watching you. You smell like everyone else now.”

Freddie laughs at Brian’s predictability but doesn’t protest when Brian guides him to the shower as soon as they get in and spends the rest of the night curled around him in bed, making him smell _right_ again.

* * *

They continue ducking into the studio every spare chance they get, just _because_. Because they need a break from being _Queen_ , from being a worldwide machine, but they still need this. 

Sometimes Roger and John join them, not for anything official but just to jam together for a while, blow out the cobwebs. Roger plays them some of the solo stuff he’s been working on and they all eagerly start ripping it apart so they can put it back together for him, ten times better.

They all usually work well under pressure but somehow having all this leisure time in the studio has them churning out plenty of ideas and a few rough guide tracks: if they _did_ decide to release an album while they’re taking a break they’d have plenty of material to work on. 

Freddie spends an entire day crying because they can’t find Delilah’s food bowl anywhere—they have plenty of others but this is her _specific_ bowl and losing it is apparently akin to the end of the world—until Brian finds it in, of all places, his wardrobe. 

Brian is shortly thereafter banished to a guest room for the night because he’d laughed at Freddie for misplacing it in such a random spot.

“It wasn’t _me_ ,” Freddie screeches at him, incensed. “Why the fuck would I put her fucking bowl in your fucking wardrobe? It must’ve been you!”

“I haven’t even been _home_ all day, Fred!” Brian’s let a lot of ridiculous accusations slide since Freddie fell pregnant but he can’t help himself on this one. “It’s your hormones making you forget stuff.”

Cue explosion. Brian had argued with him for about an hour before deciding it just wasn’t worth it and gladly accepting an excuse to be away from the fight, making himself comfortable in the guest room. It had only taken an hour or so for Freddie (who won’t admit it on pain of _death_ but has remembered suddenly going into Brian’s wardrobe earlier to steal a t-shirt for its comforting scent) to give in and creep round the doorway, subtly stealing across the room and slipping into bed with Brian and cuddling close.

The antenatal classes get only slightly more bearable, with Bee teaching them all about homeopathic remedies and the importance of breathing through pain—Brian has several verbal spats with her about her pseudoscience and what sort of rubbish she’s filling his omega’s head with until Freddie gets embarrassed and tells him he’s forbidden from coming any more unless he shuts up.

Then he wishes he _had_ banished Brian because one of the classes is on birthing positions and although everyone in the room is mostly focused on their own partner, Freddie wants to _die_ of embarrassment when Brian insists they take part so they can learn. (It _is_ helpful but Freddie’s certain Brian’s read all this in a book, anyway, so he needn’t have gone through the torture of trying it out in a room full of fucking people, who have _eyes_ ).

The hospital tour is terrifying. Brian tries to take notes, made difficult by the frightened omega tightly clutching his hand, eyes wide as they look around the delivery suite. Freddie tries to tune out everything the nurses are saying and, after wishing for so long for the twins to just _be here_ already so he won’t have to put up with being pregnant any more, suddenly wants very much for them to stay put.

They still can’t decide on names.

Brian rejects Buzz, Luna, Venus, Jovian, Jupiter...Freddie tries many variations on the space theme, thinking it’s the right tree to bark up, but Brian’s stubborn.

“What about Leo?” Freddie suggests one day after he’s been looking up his horoscope and doing some maths in his head ( _not_ his favourite thing).

Brian, who knows exactly what he’s been reading, arches an eyebrow at him. “Because they’re going to be Leos, you mean?” he asks wryly.

_Yes_. “No! I was thinking…” He has to think _fast_. “Leonardo. As in Da Vinci. Even _you_ can’t deny you couldn’t have a much better namesake than that!”

Brian’s trying to look sceptical but Freddie’s ran half a million names by him and he can tell that Brian’s actually considering this one.

“Leo…” he mutters to himself, eyeing Freddie’s stomach thoughtfully.

* * *

It happens suddenly, when it finally happens.

A week before Freddie’s due to be induced, Brian’s shaken awake just after one in the morning by Freddie hissing, “Brian, it’s happening!”

They’ve been preparing for this moment for months, had the hospital bag packed ready to go and the car full of petrol practically since they came home from the tour, but it still takes Brian a moment to absorb what Freddie means.

“What?” He’s still half asleep and blindly reaches for Freddie, breathing deeply when he registers the slight change in his scent, the frisson of _something_ through their bond.

_Oh_.

“Oh,” Brian says a bit stupidly as his brain clicks on. “Fuck! It’s happening? _Now_?”

“Yes!”

Brian knows they need to get moving, call the doctor, call Jer, get Freddie to the hospital, but for the moment all of his carefully made plans have abandoned him and he can only stare at Freddie in wonder. “It’s happening,” he says again, softly. “They’re coming. They’re really coming now? We’re having our babies?”

Freddie nods, his eyes wide as he clutches his stomach. “We’re having our babies,” he confirms, giggling a tiny bit hysterically.

“Oh my God.” Brian leans over and drags Freddie in for a careful hug, tears springing into his eyes when Freddie clutches him, breathing deeply and deliberately. “Okay. _Okay_. Let’s do this.” He pulls back and catches Freddie’s hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze before he rolls out of bed and pads around to Freddie’s side to help him out and help him get some clothes on.

He himself drags yesterday’s jeans on with all haste and a t-shirt he hopes is clean before using the bedroom phone to call the hospital and tell them they’re coming in.

Next he calls Freddie’s mum, who’s going to be their birth partner, while Freddie sits on the edge of the bed with his head tucked down, breathing through gritted teeth, Brian comfortingly rubbing a hand up and down his back as he tells Jer to meet them at the hospital. 

He’s done the route to the hospital so many times it’s second nature by now, not just for appointments but during test runs that Brian carried out at all times of the day, from various places he thought things might kick off from. 

The longest time is from John’s house—nearly fifty minutes even at the quietest time of day. From their own home the journey runs at an average of about twenty seven minutes—at this time of night Brian thinks they can do it in twenty or so. He’s been driving Freddie mad for the past few weeks, running test drives at all hours and meticulously recording the timings and the density of traffic, trying out different routes to find the _best_ possible one for each time of day. He does know it’s slightly irrational but he’s found it hard to accept the absolute lack of control they have over any of these final moments and it had made him feel better.

And it means he can tell Jer pretty much exactly when they’ll arrive.

Freddie’s called him a mad scientist at least six times since the route tracking began, but even he shoots Brian an impressed look when they pull up outside the hospital _seconds_ before his mother’s car arrives.

Brian rather feels like he’s lost his mate a bit after that, because Freddie clings to Jer and doesn’t let her go as they walk toward the front entrance, Brian barely more than a crutch to help him walk. But he doesn’t mind; he can sense through their bond the comfort Freddie’s gleaning from having his mother right there with him, his alpha on his other side.

Theirs is a very good hospital; they’re shown to a private room immediately, one of the big suites they’ve already been to look at, and the doctors, nurses and midwives are all so calm and composed they have Freddie laughing before long and even Brian relaxes.

Jer is the perfect companion, gliding around the room and fetching Freddie things before he even seems to realise he wants them, refilling waters, smoothing his hair back, being stern with him before he has a chance to work himself into hysterics. Brian’s never been much good at that, always just wanting to give Freddie whatever he wants and only ever getting stern with him when it’s far too late and Freddie’s already entered meltdown mode.

He just holds his hand and tells him encouraging things, tells him he loves him and he’s perfect and doing brilliantly, massaging his shoulders and sitting with Freddie straddled over his lap with their foreheads together when Freddie’s really struggling and needs some extra comfort and grounding.

It’s more difficult later, as the hours begin to slip by and Freddie’s in more and more pain. Every instinct in Brian wants to comfort him, gentle him, soothe the distress away, but it’s the worst thing he could possibly do. He knows that. He’s not allowed to gentle him yet, it won’t help; all the books and doctors say so. Freddie needs all of his adrenaline to get through this, but it’s hard to just stand by and watch.

Freddie alternates between sobbing in Brian’s arms and begging him to fix it for him, make it go away, _look after him_ , and absolutely _seething_ at him.

“You fucking piece of shit _alpha_!” Freddie screeches, his eyes screwed tight shut and nails digging hard into the back of Brian’s hand as he holds on for dear life. “Why would you _do this to me_? I don’t _want_ this any more, I want to go _back_. Don’t ever t- _touch_ me _again_!”

Freddie doesn’t let go of him, though, and Brian doesn’t make a move to leave his side, just strokes his hair and kisses his forehead and keeps an eye on the clock.

It’s hours. _Hours_ of pure distress, of Freddie so worked up it makes Brian start feeling aggressively protective and he has to fight off the urge to tell the doctors who come near Freddie to fuck off. 

They make him leave at one point, Jer shoving him between the shoulder-blades to get him out the doors when he actually growls at one of the nurses, telling him to take a walk and calm down.

Brian’s utterly furious but he wrestles with himself, clinging to reason, and after standing outside the closed door for several long minutes, just listening, he manages to make himself walk away. He knows it _will_ help but being away from Freddie right now is pure torture, it goes against every instinct in him; he should _be_ there for him, he’s his fucking mate. But his own distress will only put Freddie in danger and that’s the last thing Brian wants.

He buys a hot chocolate from the machine downstairs and scalds his mouth drinking it before it’s cool, pacing the corridors like a caged animal for ten minutes, practising breathing. Antenatal classes came in handy, after all. He has to be calm for Freddie, be a steady, unwavering presence for him, make sure their bond is as solid and calming as it could ever be so that Freddie can cling to that just as he’s been clinging to Brian physically.

Brian’s read all of this in every book he could get his hands on, but it’s much harder to put into practice than he thought it would be.

Eventually he can’t take the distance any more and he can feel Freddie reaching for him through their bond, can hear him from several steps away from the door.

“Ma _ma_! Where _is he_?”

Brian bursts inside without knocking. The aggression isn’t _gone_ but Brian has a better handle on it now, wordlessly inserting himself between the doctors around Freddie to take his hand again.

Freddie tries to lean out of bed to clutch him and Brian quickly steadies him and hugs him tightly, scenting his throat, rubbing his nose over Freddie’s mark.

“You’re alright,” he assures him, taking up rubbing his back again. “You’re alright, sweetheart. It’s going to be over soon.”

Freddie’s face is pale beneath the tear-tracks. “We’re—calling—one—Leo,” he sobs out determinedly, and Brian actually laughs, holding him tighter.

“Anything you want, my love.”

* * *

Leo arrives first. His sister follows a few minutes behind, both of them screaming as they gasp at their first taste of air, and Brian’s life changes in the work of one simple moment. One second he is an alpha and his mate is pregnant, and the next he is a father.

It’s a rush of emotion comparable only to the moment of bonding with Freddie for the very first time and it nearly takes him off his feet. He has _children_ , their cries calling out to something primal inside him that’s never been woken before.

The doctors don’t waste time; in moments, both of them are placed, naked and screaming and slimy, onto Freddie’s chest. 

Freddie, silent with shock and utterly exhausted, can barely get his arms up around them and Brian puts both hands on the twins’ backs to keep them steady, marvelling at the warmth of them, their little heartbeats against his palms. 

Freddie, with great effort, manages to roll his head over to look at Brian, his eyes glazed over and beginning to droop though he’s fighting it.

“Are they okay?” he asks hoarsely. “ _Check_ , Brian. Are they okay?”

They are, Brian can tell. He can see twenty fingers and twenty toes and two red faces that are nuzzling against their mother, their cries petering off. Blue eyes he knows will probably change colour with the coming weeks and dark hair that could have come from either of them. One of the doctors gives Brian a confirming nod when he glances up and Brian grins, leaning down to kiss Freddie’s forehead.

“They’re perfect,” he assures him. “You’re amazing. A boy and a girl, Freddie! One of each.” It’s so perfect, Brian’s head is spinning, he feels almost like he’s taken a drug and it’s sent him _flying_ but it’s just _love_ , and shock, and probably the fact that he hasn’t eaten or slept in he doesn’t know how long.

“ _Leo_ ,” Freddie rasps out, narrowing his eyes at Brian like he thinks his alpha is going to fight him on _anything_ just then.

“Leo,” Brian agrees readily, and gently pushes the boy twin a little closer to Freddie’s face. “This is him. This is our boy. Leo. Are you sure?”

Freddie nods, and tries to properly lift his arms around them but he’s floppy-limbed and exhausted and can’t quite manage it. 

“They’re definitely okay?” Freddie asks, staring wildly at them.

“They’re perfect,” Brian says again. And they are. He can’t believe there are two real humans here, _their_ two humans. Fucking hell. “You can sleep, love. I’m here, okay? I’ve got you.”

Freddie leans his head into Brian, still bent awkwardly over the three of them, and lets out a big sigh. Then he’s out like a light.

* * *

Things are a bit of a blur for Brian after that. 

The doctors take the twins away to clean them and clothe them and put little bracelets around their ankles and Brian watches every move they make with such an intense glare that Jer actually tries to block his vision to break his concentration. It doesn’t work because she can barely reach, but it works well enough to distract Brian for a moment and allow her to hug him, which actually comforts him more than he ever would have expected. It makes him realise that he’s shaking, badly, and she directs him to a chair saying he’s coping better than her own husband did, squeezing his hand. 

Eventually the doctors bring the babies back and try to give one to Brian and one to Jer, but Brian takes them both, settling back and carefully arranging them both in his arms, just staring down at them. He has no idea which one is which, they’re both in white hospital caps and pale yellow blankets, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to know. He just knows that these are his _babies_ , his children, _Freddie’s_ children that he carried for him all this time, and now they’re here.

He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Jer’s offering him tissues which he doesn’t have a hand to take. 

Doctors are still bustling around, checking Freddie’s blood pressure as he slowly starts coming back round and helping him sit up marginally, midwives giving advice that Brian can barely hear over the strange ringing in his ears. He’s a father now. They’re a family.

Brian wishes they could all be left alone without a bunch of strangers fussing about, but one of the twins starts crying a few seconds later and the midwife brings bottles of milk for them so he can’t begrudge the full room quite so much. They rearrange so that Brian can feed the child who’s crying and the other gets passed to Freddie, who now has enough control over his arms to be able to cuddle them though words seem to escape him for the moment. He and Brian just share stunned glances, effectively communicating, _How the fuck did we make these_? without words.

Someone gives Freddie the other bottle and Jer helps him angle it properly so the baby can suckle and Brian can feel the pulse of pure _love_ that emanates from Freddie through their bond and his eyes fill with tears again.

He wishes he could _focus_ properly and take a mental note of every single second that passes so he won’t ever forget any of it but everything feels like it’s happening in a dream, seconds slipping away in a daze as someone shows him how to burp his baby when they’re done feeding, and all he can think about is how tiny they are in his hands, their head not even the size of his palm. He doesn’t even know which one he’s holding.

He’s terrified to move them around too much to check, in case he upsets the position or makes them sick up or something, so he asks Jer to look at the anklet. 

“Boy,” she tells him, planting a gentle kiss on the boy’s—Leo’s—head. 

“My little baby,” Brian whispers, carefully lifting him closer to his face, trying to remember every single thing he’s read about babies when his brain is filled with nothing but a strong awareness that this is his _child_ and he is a father now. “Leonardo. Do you like the sound of that?”

Leo stares blankly at him for a moment, yawning with his tiny, gummy mouth, and Brian nearly can’t _breathe_.

“I want to see him,” Freddie says and it takes Brian a moment to realise he’s talking to him. 

He holds Leo securely in both hands and gets to his feet with more care than he’s ever done possibly _anything_ in his life, grinning down at Freddie as he lays Leo in his arms along with his sister so Freddie can see them both.

“My little darlings,” Freddie whispers, tears running off the end of his nose as he gazes down at them. “I’m so proud of you both, aren’t they clever, Brian?” he asks, staring up at him. “They knew _just_ what to do,” he sniffs.

Brian can’t help but chuckle at him, smoothing his hand over Freddie’s sweaty, tangled hair. “They’re amazing,” he says, awed. “I can’t believe they’re here.”

He leans down to kiss Freddie’s temple, breathing him in. Already he smells closer to his pre-pregnancy self, though still a little different to before which Brian can’t get enough of. He breathes in deeply, pressing close, and Freddie gives a quiet, exhausted laugh.

“You never change, do you, darling?” he says fondly, resting his head on Brian’s.

“I love you,” Brian tells him, low in his ear because there are still a few hospital staff pottering around the room. “Thank you, Freddie.”

Freddie blinks at him, confused, his eyes filling with tears again. “For what?”

“For _them_ ,” Brian says, gently running a finger over one of the twins’ cheeks. “For making me a father. I love them so much I can’t believe it. I love _you_.” He’s tearing up as well and Freddie sniffs, hard.

“Oh, darling!” he says unsteadily. “I know it was awful sometimes but I don’t care now. Just _look_ at them.”

Because they’re perfect, and it was worth it. It was immediately, completely, undoubtedly worth it, even just for the few minutes they’ve had with them so far. Freddie doesn’t know how he will ever absorb this, how it will ever feel _normal_ that they have two babies now; he can’t fully take it in yet. They’re _here_. Two tiny, whole, perfect babies.

It feels like a dream. Maybe it _is_ a dream and he’s going to wake up in the morning and still be pregnant and have to go through this all again.

The thought makes him shudder.

But he doesn’t wake up from it. It’s real. 

It feels _more_ real when they’re finally, _finally_ left alone with their children, after more tests and checks and talks, after they’ve been brought something to eat (which Freddie is more than grateful for, suddenly _ravenous_ ), and Freddie has showered, and Jer has given them all lots of cuddles before heading home for some well-deserved rest, promising to visit with Bomi very soon.

Then it’s just Freddie and Brian and their two babies. 

They sit in silence for a long time, just staring at them, both crammed into Freddie’s now cleaned-up bed with a baby each. They don’t need to talk. Their bond feels fuller and stronger than it ever has before, shining and solid between them, and there’s such a depth of shared feeling that talking seems almost redundant.

Sadly it won’t last; Brian’s read about this heightened connection and it only usually lingers for an hour or two after the birth, but he’s enjoying it while he can, feeling truly as _one_ with Freddie, more so than their usual bond does.

Brian breaks the quiet eventually, though. “So we have Leo,” he says, giving Freddie a gentle nudge. “Our girl needs a name, too.”

Freddie blinks, having fallen into a light almost-doze, and hums. “Zelda,” he suggests. Brian veto-ed this one already but he just bore the man two children, the least he can do now is let Freddie have his own way on everything forever and ever.

Brian snorts. “No.”

Freddie frowns at him. “I just gave you two children!”

“You did,” Brian agrees, kissing the side of his head. “But you’re not naming one of them _Zelda_.”

“Tigerlily, then.”

“What? No!” Brian pauses then, though. “I don’t think I mind _Lily_ , actually,” he allows, looking down at the girl in his arms.

“Ooh, I like that,” Freddie says, seizing on it and looking at her as well. That cements it, without any real thought. He holds the name in his mind and looks at her and that’s it. “Brian,” he says, wobbly, a bit panicked that Brian’s going to refuse it. “Say _yes_ , will you! That’s her name. Oh, and it fits so perfectly! Little Lily May.”

Brian’s staring down at her and Freddie watches him, holding his breath, until Brian opens his mouth and very quietly sings “ _Lily of the valley_ ,” and thoughtfully purses his lips a moment later, and Freddie knows it’s settled.

“Lillian,” Brian says finally, glancing at Freddie. “To go with Leonardo. When they’re naughty,” he adds with a slight bemused grin. “I can just imagine you shouting that up the stairs.”

Freddie scoffs. “Absolutely not, darling,” he returns, leaning his head on Brian’s shoulder but not taking his eyes off his children for a moment. “You can be the one who tells them off and I’ll be the one they come to for cuddles after their daddy’s been mean to them.”

Brian laughs but he rather suspects that _is_ a peek into what their future will be, traditional though it is. He’s sure they’ll figure it out, they’re a good team. A family, now.

“I bet they’ll be sporty,” Brian muses. “Like you were when you were a kid.” They’ve had conversations like this a hundred times over Freddie’s bump but it all feels much more real and appropriate now they’re right here. 

“We’ll be freezing on the sidelines at football matches,” Freddie agrees. “We’ll have to learn the bloody rules.”

Brian laughs. “Oh, Christ.”

“No boarding school, though,” Freddie says quickly. This is another conversation they’ve already had, just once—to agree it was never going to happen.

“No boarding school,” Brian confirms readily. “Do you think they’d come on tour with us, when they’re a bit older?”

Freddie nods. “I think you’d go without us otherwise, darling!” he says, only half-joking. Brian’s never been good at _not_ being on tour, always itching to get back on the road. “We could get them little ear defenders. And we can have tiny tour t-shirts made for them!”

“Not for a long time, though,” Brian says firmly. “I want to be _home_ first, just us four. Be _normal_ for a while.”

Freddie gives an amused little huff. “You know, darling, a year ago I’d have laughed at you for saying that,” he says, letting his eyes start to drift closed, warm and safe and surrounded by his alpha and his _children_. “But actually...that’s exactly what I want, too.” Freddie Mercury. _Normal_. Who’d have ever thought it?

* * *

It’s a few days before they’re able to go home but everyone makes the hospital stay as comfortable as they can and, while it’s not ideal, Brian and Freddie both want to make sure the twins are absolutely perfectly okay before taking them home. 

It’s also surprisingly helpful to be surrounded by doctors and midwives for those few days because it turns out even the ridiculous number of books Brian’s read can’t actually prepare someone for the practical reality of babies. 

Neither of them have been around children very much before; they know John’s kids of course but they’ve never taken part in changing them or feeding them or any of that, so there’s a lot to learn, from changing the nappies to wrangling tiny limbs into tiny clothes to preparing formula to winding after feeding and correct positions to lay them down to sleep in.

There’s a lot to learn, a lot to remember, a lot to do, so by the time Brian’s carefully strapping the car seats into the car to take them home, after looking forward to this moment _so_ much, they’re both _slightly_ petrified.

Even just being _in_ the car with them feels like so much _more_ than they’ve experienced so far; it really is just them. 

Brian glances at Freddie, who’s situated carefully between both babies in the back, before he starts the engine and just breathes out, trying to calm himself. He’s excited and nervous in one, almost nauseous with it all, and he can tell Freddie’s feeling the same.

They then embark on _the_ most careful drive Brian’s ever done, including when he drove Freddie to the hospital to actually _have_ the twins in the first place, and it takes twice as long to get home as it usually does; with their two newborn babies in the back, it feels like every crossing, traffic light, and corner is a hundred times more dangerous than it ever was before.

They haven’t told anyone except Phoebe that they’re coming home today but even he has promised to keep out of the way unless he’s needed, so the place is empty when they first step inside.

Brian has Lily in one carrier and Freddie’s carrying Leo in the other and they’d both wanted some time to themselves for this but it feels...strange, having them here in the house, even just in the hallway.

Freddie puts Leo’s seat down, shuts the door behind him, and he and Brian just stare at each other, both as lost as the other.

“What now?” Freddie asks eventually. His eyes are as wide and shocked as they had been when he first found out he was carrying them; it had been one thing to find out they existed at all, it’s quite another to actually be in possession of them and left to it. “Brian...Christ. We don’t know how to be parents!” He’s panicked and his voice pitches up but he keeps as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake the twins who are sleeping peacefully.

“Ssh, it’s alright,” Brian calms him quickly, feeling just as untethered. “Nobody knows what they’re doing the first time around, Fred. We’ll be fine.” He’s read so many books, surely all that information has been absorbed in his brain somewhere and it’ll come to the front right when he needs it? Only a very few bits have so far, Brian mostly too tired and shocked to be able to think about much beyond the very second he’s living in, but it’s early days.

“Okay,” he says, shaking himself a bit to try and clear his head. “Let’s take them in the living room. I’m going to put the kettle on.”

Freddie lets out an almost inappropriate groan. “Oh God, yes _please_ , darling.”

Brian grins at him. Tea is always the best way to resolve anything and the stuff at the hospital had been frankly dreadful, even by Brian’s standards and he’ll drink anything. 

“Do you think we should bring the Moses baskets down here?” he asks thoughtfully, wishing he’d thought of _this_ exact moment when he’d been planning everything else. “They can’t stay in those seats.” But it would be really helpful to have somewhere safe and comfortable to be able to put them down.

Freddie nods and starts toward the stairs when Brian catches him with the hand not still holding the carrier. 

“I’ll do it, you go and sit down,” Brian tells him firmly. Freddie’s still recovering and though he’s doing amazingly Brian doesn’t want to push it.

“Bri, I can go upstairs—”

“Just go and sit down, baby,” Brian coaxes, guiding him through into the living room and picking up Leo, wondering how the babies are so small and light in his hands but can suddenly weigh so much when lying in a car seat; the damn things weigh a bloody tonne, his arms feel like they’re about to come out of their sockets.

He sets them both down in front of the sofa where Freddie’s carefully seated himself, both of them facing their mother so Freddie can look at them and they’ll be able to see him if they wake. He can’t help but give Freddie a lingering kiss before he walks away, so filled with love for his little family it’s almost unbearable.

He quickly darts into the kitchen to set up the kettle, cups, and teabags before jogging upstairs to fetch the Moses baskets and awkwardly carry them downstairs, making a mental note to pop out and buy two _more_ of the things for them to keep in the living room; it’ll be a nightmare if they have to do this every day.

Then they have to figure out how to put them _in_ the baskets, which involves taking them out of the seats and fills Brian with no small amount of anxiety even though he’s held both children dozens of times since they’ve been born. That was all in the hospital, though; although he _knows_ nothing will go wrong, it had just felt that much safer doing everything when surrounded by doctors and nurses.

Freddie, who doesn’t seem to have any such qualms, expertly undoes the straps keeping Lily safe and carefully scoops her out, his hands so sure and loving around her it makes Brian feel nearly dizzy to watch because he loves him so damn _much_.

She stirs a tiny bit, mouth opening and closing a few times, especially because Freddie can’t help but give her kisses over both of her cheeks before setting her down. She doesn’t wake, though, and Freddie glances up at Brian beaming with pride.

“Ta da!” he stage-whispers, grinning, before doing the same with Leo.

The kettle’s long boiled but Brian couldn’t care less, just stands there and stares down at his children, both sleeping peacefully in their baskets, dark hair soft and fluffy after being washed, so tiny in their little baby-grows and mittens. He wishes he could see their hands, for some reason their hands just twinge something in Brian; they’re so _small_ , like little models of regular hands, with tiny fingernails and fingerprints and Brian can’t believe they’re _real_.

“Is it too soon to judge,” Freddie murmurs, one hand clutching the edge of one of the baskets, “or did we just make two _perfect_ children?”

Brian laughs softly. “They _are_ perfect,” he agrees without hesitation. “How the fuck did we do it?”

“Irresponsible sex,” Freddie says without hesitation, which makes Brian snort. “Were you making tea?”

“Yeah, I’ll go do it now.”

“Do you think you should make some bottles as well? They’ll probably wake up soon.”

Brian nods, finding himself smiling ridiculously. “Good idea,” he says. He’ll go and make up some bottles, for his _babies_. This is it for them now; this is their new normal. He doesn’t understand how in hell he ever got so lucky, but he knows he wouldn’t give it up for the _world_.

Just as he’s finishing up he hears a carefully _not_ panicked call of, ‘Brian?’ and darts into the living room sharpish with two cups in hand and two bottles tucked in his armpits.

“What is it?” he asks quickly, though it becomes apparent as he walks in. Three of the cats have come out of wherever they were sleeping and are quietly working up the courage to approach the baskets while Freddie eyes them worriedly. “Oh, they’re alright,” he assures Freddie, putting the cups and bottles down with slight difficulty and sitting beside Freddie on the sofa, leaning into him. “Let them get used to the new smells, they won’t hurt them.” None of the cats are violent creatures, more inclined to roll around and leave fur all over Brian’s desk chair or new trousers than they are to even think about hissing at something.

“Are you sure?” Freddie asks, still keeping a watchful eye, not looking away even as he reaches blindly for his tea. 

Brian picks it up and hands it to him, smiling at this protective streak. It’s kind of adorable. “I’m sure.” 

“I just can’t believe they’re here with us. _Look_ at them!”

Brian is; he can’t stop. They’re both just sitting and staring at them, unable to do anything else but marvel at their two beautiful children. “I’m so glad,” Brian whispers, taking Freddie’s hand in his and cuddling against him, turning his head to press a kiss against his throat and breathe deeply, revelling in that _Freddie_ scent. He’d loved his pregnancy scent, something about it had appealed to a deep alpha pride in him, but this is familiar and _Freddie_ again, his _mate_.

Freddie’s head droops down onto Brian’s shoulder, his cup resting precariously on his knee until Brian rescues it and sets it aside, holding him close. 

“Sleep if you want, baby, I’m watching over them. It’s okay.”

Freddie’s blinking hard, trying to keep himself awake. “I just...don’t want to miss a _second_ ,” he says tiredly.

“You’re not going to miss anything,” Brian promises him. “They’re here, they’re ours. We have all the time in the world.”

Freddie drops off without further convincing and Brian sighs with giddy happiness as he carefully leans against the back of the sofa, Freddie boneless against him, gazing at the twins as he sips his tea and thinks that if he could choose one single moment to live in for the rest of his life, this would be it.

* * *

Then there are more moments and Brian doesn’t know how he’d ever pick a _best_ one. That first night both twins wake up crying in the early hours and Brian and Freddie sit up against their headboard and feed them in contented, companionable silence and it feels like more peace than Brian’s ever known in his life.

And then the next day his parents come over and Brian gets to present their first ever grandchildren to them and his dad actually tears up a tiny bit, though he tries to hide it, and Brian can’t get over the _pride_ that swells in him.

Even Freddie’s dad gets a bit emotional, giving Freddie a rare hug that makes Freddie go all teary-eyed and Brian can feel the emotional wobble across their bond and he can’t stop _smiling_ because everyone loves their babies so much. Of course they do; they’re perfect, but he just loves showing them off. 

Roger and John both come over on the same evening a few days after they returned home, though instead of bringing the usual gifts of baby clothes and soft toys, they bring beers and takeaway pizza and, surprisingly, an expensive omegan bubble bath for Freddie.

“So you can go and relax and let Brian deal with all the shitty nappies and baby bottles,” Roger tells him as he hands it over, shooting Brian a teasing grin. “Pull his alpha weight.”

Brian laughs and flips Roger off, taking the pizza boxes from John and leading everyone through into the living room as Freddie follows behind, defending him.

“Brian’s done most of the nappies, actually, and he’s just wonderful at getting them off to sleep, he can rock them just right,” he tells Roger, and Brian smirks to himself because he can tell Freddie’s boasting a bit rather than just setting Roger straight, and he kind of loves it.

“You should get a rocking chair,” John advises sagely, flopping down on the sofa and peering interestedly at the nearest baby. “Lifesaver for us.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea, Brian we’ll have to go and find a couple in town.”

“Didn’t get Brian’s snout, then,” Roger comments disappointedly, looking at the other twin, but his expression goes all soft when he actually takes them in. “Which one’s this?”

“That’s Lily,” Freddie says, already reaching in to pick her up—she’s waking anyway. “Do you want to hold her? Oh, Brian calm down,” he adds without even looking; he can just _sense_ the sudden edge Brian’s feeling at the idea of a completely unrelated alpha holding his child.

“Oh, I—” Roger says, a bit startled, but Freddie’s putting her in his arms before he can really protest, arranging his hands so he’s supporting her properly. “Bloody hell,” he says softly, sitting more still than Freddie’s ever seen him before. “She’s tiny.”

“Isn’t she? They both are. Leo sleeps better but she’s easier to feed,” Freddie tells them, sitting down next to Brian and taking his hand in both of his, rubbing it gently to help calm him down a bit. His eyes are fixed on Roger like he thinks he’s going to toss her in the air or something.

“Do you want to hold Leo, Deaky?” Freddie offers. 

“Oh, that’s alright,” John says airily. “Don’t wake him, I’ll hold Lily when Roger’s arms get tired, though.”

“She’s...she’s doing something,” Roger says abruptly, staring. “Her mouth’s all open—Freddie! You better take her!”

Brian jumps up in a flash but Freddie beats him to their drummer, only to fall about laughing. “She’s _yawning_ , you moron,” he tells him, though poor Roger looks so nervous holding her that he relieves him from duty and takes her back. 

“I thought she was going to throw up or something,” Roger mutters, rubbing the back of his neck as Freddie hands her to John instead.

He takes her with the hands of a well-practised father and Brian actually relaxes a bit, even opening a pizza box and helping himself to a slice, though he keeps a keen gaze on John the whole time.

“Wow,” John murmurs, bobbing her gently. “I miss when mine were this small, Christ. It goes so fast. You guys won’t even realise.”

“I can’t believe you have babies now,” Roger says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I remember when you first _bonded_. And now you have children.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Brian reflects happily, putting an arm around Freddie as he sits back down. “Mind, we’ve only had them a few days and I’m already pretty sure I’ve never been this tired in my entire life. I thought touring would’ve made us used to the lack of sleep.”

“Ha!” John laughs, not unkindly. “I thought that, too. I was _glad_ to get back on tour so I could catch up on sleep.”

“Oh, God,” Freddie says, hiding his face in a hand though he’s still smiling. “I’m going to have to learn how to make better coffee.”

Brian snorts. “Agreed.” Freddie’s coffee is fucking awful. “It’ll be you next, Rog. A little blond terror, can’t you imagine it?”

Roger shrugs. “Not sure, really,” he says honestly. “Don’t know if kids are my thing. They _are_ cute, though,” he adds, looking into Leo’s basket. “Lot of work.”

“Worth every minute,” Brian tells him. 

Roger looks unconvinced but later on he does feed Leo when he wakes up, cushions under him and his arms and hands held exactly the way Freddie’d positioned him when he first handed the baby over. He relaxes slowly as John feeds Lily and Freddie curls up practically in Brian’s lap, feeling happy and content, surrounded by so much family. 

He gives Brian a nudge after a few moments and silently nods at Roger, who’s making faces down at Leo, completely unaware of everything else, and Brian hides his smile in Freddie’s hair. 

They chat idly and they eat pizza and the babies drift back off to sleep, cradled by their uncles. They don’t once discuss when Queen is going to start a new album or look at touring again, it doesn’t even cross their minds. They will, one day. It doesn’t matter when.

All that matters right now is _this_ , the babies, being _home_ , being a family. 

Brian holds Freddie close and hopes he realises how _grateful_ he is that they have this, that they have their two perfect children and the chance to be parents, which he never thought he’d get.

He’s pretty sure he’s the luckiest man on Earth.

Then Leo wakes up and pukes all over Roger, who lets out such a cry he wakes up Lily and starts her off crying, and Leo cries, too, and it’s chaos and Brian’s struggling to hold both of them while Freddie runs off to make new bottles and John helps clean Roger up with baby wipes, trying not to laugh. 

To anyone else it’s a far cry from being perfect; it’s messy and loud and Brian’s pretty sure he has baby milk crusted in his hair and Freddie’s definitely got it in his. He’s tired and knows he will be for the next...who knows _how_ many years. It’s going to be hard work; the house is already a mess and Freddie’s cried every day since they had them, though those have mostly been happy tears, Brian thinks.

They’ll get through it, though. Together, as a family; the four of them. It’s _not_ perfect to anyone else; it’s just normal. But it’s all Brian ever wanted—just this, with Freddie. The world tours have been amazing, the fame and the money and the success—he’d be lying if he ever tried to say he didn’t love it, every bit of it.

But he loves this more.

“So,” Brian whispers later that night, right in Freddie’s ear so he won’t wake the babies. “How soon until we start thinking about making another one?”

Freddie goes still, then snorts disbelievingly. “In your fucking dreams, May,” he tells him.

Which is quite fair enough, really.


End file.
